CHAPTER 165: CHAPTER 164: UNDER LAMPLIGHT AND SHADOWS

As night fell over the quiet village, Lumberling walked a step behind Vaenyra, following the soft crunch of her boots on the gravel path.

She hadn’t said much since the sparring match. Still simmering, no doubt. He had paid the price, broken ribs, bruised pride. She hadn’t held back, not one bit. And though the healers had mended his body, the sting of her strikes still lingered in his bones.

Streetlamps flickered to life as they passed beneath them, golden halos humming softly with power drawn from the river generator and the windmill on the far ridge. The warm light threw long shadows, illuminating the contours of her beautiful face as she walked in silence.

Then she spoke, sudden and flat.

"When are you going to leave this place?"

"I’m not leaving," Lumberling said, without hesitation.

She slowed, just enough to glance back at him. "That’s not what I meant."

A few steps passed before her voice came again, softer now. "Are you going to keep staying here?"

Lumberling exhaled, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He understood what she truly meant.

"Maybe. I stayed to hide, from the Empire’s reach, from the war. To buy time... time to grow stronger."

He stopped, his gaze drifting eastward, where the distant glow of the city shimmered beyond the trees.

"But now... it’s almost time." His voice was quiet, resolute. "Time for me and my subordinates to step into the Empire’s shadow."

A beat passed.

"Soon."

Vaenyra watched him, then gave a small nod. Nothing more.

Then, finally, she spoke, her voice calm, but low.

"Be careful of the Churches."

Lumberling blinked, glancing at her. "The Churches?"

She nodded, still staring ahead. Her eyes didn’t need to meet his to command attention.

"They hold more power than you think," she continued. "Not just politically. Divinely. Some can wield blessings like a Knight wields steel. Miracles aren’t myths, they’re weapons."

Lumberling narrowed his eyes. "You’ve dealt with them before?"

"I’ve seen enough," she said. "The nobles and knights are dangerous, yes. But the Churches..." Her voice dropped. "They’re the ones you won’t see coming."

He studied her profile, sharp, sure, and distant.

"I don’t plan to," he said quietly. "But I’ll remember."

She didn’t answer right away. Her boots scraped the edge of a loose stone, and she kicked it absently into the gutter. Her steps slowed, and when she finally turned to face him, the fire in her eyes had cooled.

"There are seven Grand Dukes and twelve Dukes in this empire," she spoke, changing the subject. "Each rules a province, each has his own army, his own ambitions. The Emperor doesn’t even trust them."

Lumberling listened, truly listened. When she spoke of politics, her tone sharpened, confident, detached, precise. She might not have been born in this empire, but she understood it better than most born to it.

She spoke of hidden factions, minor lords posturing for scraps, knights who had defected or vanished mysteriously. Her words painted a picture of rot behind gilded banners. And he soaked in every detail.

But it wasn’t just what she said.

It was the way her voice would briefly rise when she mentioned a name she despised. The pause before she spoke of certain places, like she was choosing her words with care.

Their night continued like that. She talked. He listened. She taught. He memorized.

And despite the heavy subjects, wars, betrayals, divine dangers, there was something strangely peaceful about it. The kind of calm that needed no laughter, no flattery, just quiet understanding.

Just presence.

Just her.

And beneath the weight of her words, he found a quiet comfort in walking beside her under the moon, the lights of the village glowing like fireflies in a jar.

....

A week passed in a quiet flurry of preparation. The elves had packed everything with methodical care, sturdy crates filled with compact batteries, coiled bulbs, bundled wires, and the hand-crafted lamps and portables Lumberling and his crew had prepared.

They didn’t carry much, only what could be reasonably hauled by wagon and mount, but it was enough. Enough to spark the venture, to show proof of concept once they returned to their homeland. If it worked, and they all believed it would, they’d return for more. Much more.

At the village gate, beneath the shade of the towering trees, Vaenyra, Aurelya, and Thessalia stood facing Lumberling.

"Take care of yourself here," Aurelya muttered, not quite meeting his eyes.

She still hadn’t forgiven him, not fully. She’d tried to convince him to leave with them again the night before, her voice soft, her hand gripping his sleeve. But his answer hadn’t changed.

"Still grumpy?" Lumberling asked, flashing a shameless grin. "I already made it up to you with my body. Don’t tell me it wasn’t enough."

"It’s not like that!" she snapped, her face burning.

He chuckled, utterly unfazed, enjoying how flustered she got.

She huffed and turned, fists balled at her sides.

"You!"

Before she could fire back, Thessalia stepped forward, slipping between them like a cold breeze. "Enough of your ridiculous love talks," she said crisply, brushing her green hair behind one ear.

From her pack, she withdrew a thick book bound in deep green hide. The spine bore faint silver etchings, arcane runes, instructional tags, her own personal annotations.

"I compiled the essential theories, casting techniques, and diagrams you’ll need for structured spellcasting." She held it out. "If you’re diligent, this should be enough to carry you to the Fourth Circle."

Lumberling took it with both hands, reverent. The weight of the book was nothing compared to the work it represented.

"You didn’t have to go this far," he said, thumbing the edge of a page.

"I know," she replied.

He stepped in and kissed her cheek. Soft. Quick. But full of warmth.

"Thank you for being so thoughtful... my favorite teacher."

Thessalia didn’t flinch, didn’t move, didn’t even blink. But the tips of her ears turned pink. She turned back without a word, but her steps were a touch too brisk.

Aurelya let out a fake cough, clearly unimpressed.

"Smooth. Real smooth," she said, arms crossed.

Lumberling only chuckled again.

Behind them, Vaenyra remained quiet, watching the exchange with a subtle smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.