Kaelen gave him a look, unreadable again. "You think she's still alive?"

"She has to be," Lindarion said. "They wouldn't go through that much trouble just to kill her. Not yet."

Jaren nodded once. "Alright. We hold. Get more scouts out. Tighten patrols. If they moved once, they'll move again. They might leave a trail next time."

Lindarion didn't argue. But his jaw set tighter.

'They're not leaving anything they don't want us to find.'

Ashwing stirred on his shoulder. "You need rest. Food. Something hot. You've been running since yesterday."

'I can't rest. Not now.'

"You're no good to anyone half-dead."

Lindarion didn't reply. He watched Jaren walk back toward the command tent, watched Kaelen disappear into the trees again, maybe to scout, maybe just to be alone.

The sky above them stayed gray.

And somewhere out there, Luneth was alone.

Not dead.

But not safe.

And the longer they waited, the more she slipped further out of reach.

—

The wind shifted at dusk.

Just a small change. Nothing dramatic. It came in low across the hills, brushed past the tree line like it was checking for weakness. Carried the smell of ash and smoke and earth that had been turned too many times too fast.

Lindarion sat near the outer watch post, a half-broken bench beneath him and a plate of untouched stew cooling on the crate beside it.

His coat was still damp with sweat and dried blood, not enough to make him uncomfortable, but enough to remind him he hadn't changed. Not since the fighting started.

Ashwing lay curled on the post behind him, tail flicking every few minutes. The little dragon wasn't asleep, just still. Like it was conserving something.

Lindarion hadn't spoken in a while.

Not since Kaelen walked off again. Not since Jaren left to review the new scout reports. Not since the last round of wounded were stabilized.

Just silence.

That, and the way the sky kept bleeding orange.

He stared toward it, watching nothing in particular. Let the wind sting his eyes a little. It helped keep him alert.

Then footsteps.

"Prince," someone said.

He didn't respond right away.

Too used to people using his name like a job title. Too used to bracing for what came next.

The soldier came into view, older, short-cropped hair under a bent helm, coat scorched and one side of his face wrapped in gauze. He held a scroll in both hands, the wax seal cracked.

"Report," he said simply.

Lindarion nodded once, took the scroll. His fingers left smudges on the edge.

He read.

Slowly.

Once.

Then again.

Ashwing stirred beside him.

"What is it?"

Lindarion's jaw shifted. "Leonhardt. No one's seen him since the evacuation."

Ashwing's pupils narrowed. "The King?"

Lindarion held up the parchment. "Last confirmed sighting was at the midline barrier. Two hours before the nest breach."

Ashwing's tail gave a twitch. "What, they just lost him?"

Lindarion didn't answer.

He read the last line again:

—and no known magic residue was found at the chamber. All tracking spells led to a dead radius.

'Dead radius,' he thought. 'That's not a retreat path. That's erasure.'

The soldier was still standing there. Waiting.

"Who filed this?" Lindarion asked.

"Messenger from the southern scout division. Said the chain's been silent ever since."

He nodded once. "Go get Jaren. And Kaelen, if you can find him."

The soldier saluted and jogged off.

Ashwing leapt down from the post and landed beside him. "You think it's them?"

Lindarion didn't answer immediately.

He stood slowly, feeling the familiar ache shoot through his ribs again. He tucked the scroll into his coat.

"They wanted chaos," he muttered. "This is chaos. The King gone? That's more than strategy. That's a message."

Ashwing fluttered to his shoulder, claws hooking gently into the leather.

"You gonna tell the others?"

"Eventually."

"What do we do until then?"

He looked out toward the treeline again.

Then down at the cooling plate of food he hadn't touched.

'We wait,' he thought bitterly. 'Because there's nothing else we can do.'

But he didn't say it out loud.

Not yet.

—

The sound of night in Solrendel was usually a quiet thing.

Not silent, no estate ever truly was, but subdued. The gentle rustle of banners above stone balconies. The creak of lantern chains in the wind. Now and then the distant hoofbeat of a night patrol.

But tonight… something had shifted.

Eldrin stood by the high arched window in his study, a hand resting lightly on the stone ledge. No crown tonight. No regalia. Just a deep silver tunic half-buttoned and sleeves rolled to the elbow. The way he dressed when he didn't expect visitors.

And still, he didn't move.

His golden eyes remained fixed on the horizon, narrowed.

The air had gone still twenty minutes ago. No breeze. No scent from the flower courtyards below. Just a kind of… pause. Like the world had held its breath and forgotten how to exhale.

Behind him, the tall candelabras guttered once. Then again.

The flame flickered sideways, bent by nothing.

He felt it then.

Mana.

Not surging. Not screaming. Not unstable.

Worse.

Refined. Contained. Purposeful.

It didn't come from the ground, didn't ripple up through the roots or the rock like leyline tremors usually did. This came from above.

From the sky.

He stepped back from the window, slow and measured, never taking his eyes off the inky blue dark above the distant hills. His voice was low.

"Seraphine."

A second passed. Then she emerged from the side wall, cloak dark, hair braided, blades untouched.

"My king?"

"Wake the Guard."

"They're already on the outer walls."

He gave her a short nod. Of course they were. His household was trained better than most border cities.

"Do we have any scouts airborne?"

"Two drakes on patrol. I can have a hawk dispatched within five minutes."

"No need," he said.

Because now he could see it.

Two shapes, small at first. Floating in the air like dropped stones frozen halfway to the ground.

No wings.

No flight magic that he could sense.

Just presence.

The one on the left moved first, casual, slow, like he had all the time in the world. He drifted slightly lower, just enough for moonlight to catch his white hair and the glint of glasses reflecting pale silver.

Eldrin frowned.

The younger one, barely a man by his build, floated beside him in silence.

Taller, by a few inches. Dressed in black. Sleeves tight to the wrist. His mana pulsed faintly, like a closed heartbeat, contained, but heavy. That was the one Eldrin was watching more closely.

Seraphine came up beside him, hand resting on the hilt of her shortblade.

"Recognition?" she asked.

"None," Eldrin said.

He'd seen all the known High Houses. Memorized their emblems. He'd met every guildmaster who would dare fly over elven land without permission.

These weren't them.

The white-haired one tilted his head, then smiled.

Just a twitch of the mouth. A private joke. Then he raised a hand and waved.

Eldrin did not wave back.

"Do you feel it?" Seraphine said, quieter now.

He nodded once. "The young one."

The pressure from him wasn't like the blunted, sprawling weight of a Celestial caster, nor the drifting emptiness of an astral walker.

It was tighter.

Hungrier.

Contained in a body too young to hold it.

Eldrin exhaled slowly through his nose.

"Alert the inner guard," he said. "I want archers on the balconies and shields on every wall. Quietly. No noise. No panic."

"And if they descend?"

"Then we ask their business."

"And if they don't answer?"

Eldrin stepped away from the window, one hand slipping behind his back to clasp the other.

"Then I'll ask less politely."

Seraphine disappeared without a sound.

The sky was still the same color, dark blue, but not yet full night.

The two strangers hovered like they were looking for something. Or waiting.

And in the pit of Eldrin's stomach, a thought he didn't voice:

'They aren't here by accident. They came for something. Or someone.'

He didn't know how, or when, but he'd learned to trust that feeling over centuries of war and politics.

He stepped back into the light of the study and summoned the rune-lock to his personal armory.

Steel whispered awake behind the wall.

If they moved… he would be ready.