CHAPTER 311: CHAPTER 311: AN IMPORTANT ASSET

His eyes lit up, greed contorting his features.

Without hesitation, he scooped up the gold coins and pocketed them, before rushing back to the lady. He lifted her patient in a swift, singular motion, speaking curtly.

"To the hospital."

With no time to spare, they bolted out of the house—only to realise the horses and wagons were gone.

The man turned to her, clarifying.

"Just so you know, the person who did this to them took his money when he left."

She fixed him with a piercing gaze, hesitating only a moment before nodding in reluctant acquiescence.

He smiled.

"Come with me. I know a place,"

He said, and they both began to move... deeper into the slums.

...

The sound of explosions.

The tremor caused by shockwaves.

Buildings reduced to rubble.

Victims crying.

Pyrellis, the city of white, breathes its dying breath.

Lugh awoke with a sudden start.

The soft chirping of birds filtered in through the stained glass window. Morning had come.

Lugh stared at the dew fogging up the glass, watched it bead and trail down in slow, quiet rivulets. He exhaled, shakily, as he took a hesitant step off the bed.

He’d been bothered enough the first time he had such a dream—now that it had happened again, he could no longer ignore it.

As he stood upright, he reached back and rubbed at the dull ache along his spine, trying to shake off the phantom pain.

Lugh didn’t care much for pain, but he would certainly try to avoid it when possible.

Isolde’s "parenting" methods had long since passed the realm of discipline. They felt more like torture—unrelenting, pointed, and cruel.

Such was only to be expected of members of House Caldreth.

The problem was that she wasn’t his parent.

Not biologically, and not emotionally. So why, then, did he have to be subject to such treatment?

Clicking his tongue in irritation, he rose to his feet, intent on finding Selaphiel, the elf. If anyone could explain why he was having these dreams, it would likely be her.

As Lugh descended the long staircase, he noted that the halls seemed emptier than usual.

It was odd. Some members of the branch family had already left, yes—but not all of them. A good number had stayed behind.

Lugh’s best guess was that they were here for reasons related to the Selection.

Finding Selaphiel, however, proved harder than he initially imagined.

For some reason—or perhaps several—the wards and defences around the manor had only grown more powerful over the past few weeks.

By now, they had reached the point where even his mice and other rodent informants were unable to penetrate the main building.

It brought Lugh a disorienting, inexplicable sense of blindness.

He sighed.

Then vanished.

He appeared again moments later beside a shadow, one who had been covertly monitoring him while seamlessly disguised as a laundry maid.

He asked her plainly,

"Where is Isolde?"

...

It was still early morning, and Selaphiel and Isolde were already on the expansive grounds of the Von Heim manor, inside a large, decorative wooden cottage.

Selaphiel gazed upon the ten children in silence, rich with thought and emotion—nervousness, bashfulness, defiance, indifference.

She sighed, turning to Isolde beside her.

"What shall we do with them?"

The request for ten live children, all aged fifteen, was obviously a smokescreen. She had no real intention of using them for anything.

They were tools. Instruments of misdirection. Nothing more.

Isolde pursed her lips as she pondered, arms folded across her chest. After a while, she responded.

"I’m not sure. They’re too old to be turned into shadows. The risk of betrayal or compromise is unacceptable."

Another voice cut in.

"What is happening here?"

They both turned simultaneously to see Lugh standing in the doorway, the laundry maid from earlier shuffling awkwardly behind him.

Isolde’s brow twitched. Her voice was taut.

"I see yesterday’s lesson wasn’t enough for you."

Lugh furrowed his brow slightly. He spoke without emotion.

"I only accepted your ’punishment’ because of Mirelle and Sela. Trust me, it won’t be happening again."

Isolde responded coldly.

"That wasn’t a punishment."

Lugh tilted his head, questioning.

"Then what was it?"

She replied evenly.

"It was the basic torture training all children from House Caldreth go through. I naturally wouldn’t subject my children to such, but you all took it too far yesterday."

Torture training... I knew it.

It was then that Selaphiel finally spoke.

"Did something happen yesterday?"

Isolde huffed as she crossed her arms again, then began explaining.

"Lugh here fooled my personal guards by having his clones transform into my daughters.

Then they secretly left the manor, travelled all the way to the central district, and got so drunk they couldn’t return. They had to ask for help."

Selaphiel turned toward him, frowning with visible concern.

"Do you realise just how dangerous that was?"

Lugh’s confusion did not reach his face. He simply responded,

"I didn’t drink."

"It doesn’t matter!"

"..."

"...Sorry about that."

Then she stepped forward, placing her hands firmly on his shoulders.

"Lugh, if I haven’t told you before, then I’m telling you now—you’re a very important asset to this family. Nothing must happen to you."

Lugh stood still. Speechless. She seemed to have torn off all pretense.

"You’re not exactly being subtle,"

He muttered.

"I don’t have to,"

She responded.

Something about her new tone unnerved him.

He asked quietly,

"What is it that you want me to do?"

Selaphiel hesitated. Her expression grew unreadable.

In the end, she answered,

"It’s not something you can accomplish now. I’ll tell you later—perhaps in another decade or so."

Now Lugh was worried.

It was one thing for her to secretly have plans and try to manipulate him to achieve them. It was another thing entirely for her to say out loud—that she was going to use him.

He wondered what had changed, what had happened for her to abandon manipulation in favour of this bold honesty.

He shook his head, recalling the reason he had come here in the first place.

But first...

Lugh tilted his head, gaze falling upon the ten teenagers on the floor—each of them seemingly similar to him in age. They were quiet. Watching. Breathing.

He asked, once again.

"What exactly is going on?"