Debriefing's By the time Mirage's hidden valley finally came back into view, Rellin's sanity was hanging from him like a loose thread on an overworked cloak.
The escort formation marched in rigid silence — four operatives ahead, two behind, Aster somewhere in the periphery like a winter storm pretending to be polite.
Rellin was not polite.
He was done.
Completely.
Utterly.
Catastrophically done.
The moment the gates closed behind them with a soft thrum of wards, Rellin exhaled the long, trembling breath of a man returning from war.
Then he turned on Elias.
Not angrily.
Not accusingly.
Just as a man who had reached the limit of what mortal flesh was meant to witness.
"What," Rellin said, voice cracking like a wagon wheel hitting a stone, "in the Magician's melted hat, was that entire trip?!"
An operative walking near them choked on a laugh and turned it into a cough.
Rellin threw his hands into the air.
"No—NO—don't you 'calm down' me! I hauled spices for twenty-five years! TWENTY-FIVE! I've survived snowstorms, thieves, rock-slides, tax collectors—TAX collectors—but never, NEVER—"
He jabbed a finger toward Elias.
"—have I been insulted by a six-inch frost goblin calling me CARROTS!"
"It was not an insult," Elias said mildly. "She was describing your emotional resonance."
"MY WHAT?!"
"Your… ah. Scent of self."
Rellin stared at him. "So I smell like VEGETABLES to magical creatures?!"
The operative in front stumbled.
Elias shrugged. "Better than smelling like prey."
Rellin opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it.
Closed it again.
Then he keeled forward, hands braced on his knees, wheezing like the universe had personally wronged him.
"Bandits, Elias. Fine. Expected. Dangerous, but expected."
He held up a shaking finger.
"But the forest moving the ROAD, Elias. The ROAD. Roads don't move. Roads stay where the Builder put them. That is the entire POINT of roads!"
"That was wildlight distortion," Elias supplied helpfully.
"STOP KNOWING THINGS THAT SCARE ME!"
Aster, who had walked silently beside them for almost the entire journey back, paused.
Rellin saw her.
His soul attempted to flee his body.
He straightened so fast his spine cracked. "Prime-Three! I—uh—I just—ah—I apologize for every noise I have made since birth."
Aster inclined her head a millimeter. "Accepted."
Rellin immediately aged another ten years.
Elias watched all of this with perfect calm.
Rellin stared at him like Elias was the cause of gravity.
"And YOU," he sputtered, pointing at him with shaking hands, "you—how are you calm?! A Winter Fey child poked your SHADOWS. Her mother turned ICE into MORE SHADOWS. You lost a week and didn't blink! You—!"
He made a strangled noise halfway between a sob and a laugh.
"—you might actually BE one of them!"
The operatives all stopped.
Looked at Elias.
Then looked away very quickly.
Elias blinked. "I'm not a Fey." He said
"He wasn't calm either. He simply wasn't letting himself feel anything at all."
Aster added dryly, "No. They like him. That is worse."
Rellin made a squeaking noise.
Elias frowned at Aster. "That does not help."
"Good," she said.
Rellin took a step back from both of them.
"I—I need—" He waved his arms limply at the sky. "—I need a drink, a nap, a therapist, a priest, and possibly a Magician who can erase memories."
"Therapists are expensive," an operative offered.
"So are priests," said another.
"Magicians do not erase memories," Aster said flatly. "They hide them under layers of plausible disbelief."
"Perfect!" Rellin gasped. "Sign me up for that!"
Elias almost smiled.
Almost.
Aster stepped closer.
"Merchant Rellin," she said.
He jumped.
"You will be compensated for your distress."
Rellin blinked at her.
"Comp—? Geld? Crown silver? Goods? Tax exemption?"
"No," Aster said. "You will be given three days of rest, two meals a day, and strict instructions never to speak of this event outside regulated debriefing."
Rellin stared at her.
"That is NOT compensation."
"That is survival."
A long moment of silence passed.
Then Rellin sagged like a dying ox.
"…I accept."
Aster nodded and gestured to two operatives. "Escort him to the merchant dormitories."
Rellin was already walking away — shaking, muttering, occasionally whispering, "Carrots. She called me carrots. I'm a carrot."
The operatives flanked him sympathetically.
One patted him on the shoulder.
"We've all been there."
"Really?" Rellin asked hopefully.
"No," the operative said. "This is much worse. But you're doing great."
Rellin whimpered.
The courtyard emptied.
Leaving only Elias and Aster.
Who stood very still.
Her mask reflected the morning frost like an omen.
"Elias Marlow," she said.
"Yes, Prime-Three."
"Come with me."
"Where?"
"Somewhere soundproof."
Elias gave a slow nod.
The shadows curled close behind him.
Aster noticed.
Her tone was unreadable when she spoke next:
"The Fey see something in you," she said. "And now… so do I."
She turned.
He followed.
Aster did not speak as she guided Elias through the narrow servant corridors behind Mirage's western gate. She didn't need to.
Her silence carried the weight of someone whose patience had expired the moment she learned:
They had vanished without a trace, magical or otherwise .
They had been puzzled then, but now.
"You didn't disappear from the map, Elias — you disappeared from the moment. Your bodies stayed in place, your tracks stayed in place… but you were shifted out of the flow of time and replaced by an empty interval."
She explained
The hallways darkened as they descended deeper beneath the outer barracks — toward the smaller meditation rooms used for sensitive evaluations. No torches here. Just rune-lit sconces and shadows that felt far too attentive.
Aster opened one such door with a flick of her wrist.
"Inside."
Not a suggestion.
Elias obeyed.
The room was small, quiet, circular — designed for truth. Shadows clung naturally to its edges in a way that made him feel watched without malice.
Aster entered behind him and closed the door with a sound like a whisper being sealed in wax.
Mask on.
Posture perfect.
Voice flat enough to shatter mountains.
"Explain."
Elias blinked. "…what part?"
Aster's head snapped toward him so sharply the air between them stiffened.
"All of it, Elias."
She crossed her arms, cloak shifting like a stormcloud disturbed.
"You left Mirage for a two-day escort evaluation. We expected a routine report. Maybe a bandit scuffle. Maybe a minor examiner incident."
Her tone sharpened dangerously.
"Instead, I receive word that you and a merchant vanished from this plane for seven days."
Elias hesitated. "…Was it truly seven?"
Aster inhaled through her nose like she was counting backwards from ten in four different languages.
"Yes," she said. "Seven. Entire. Days."
"Ah."
"Is that all you have to say?"
"…Sorry?"
Aster stared at him.
The silence that followed was so absolute that even the shadows slid away from her out of self-preservation.
She stepped closer, folding her hands behind her back.
"Start at the beginning. Do not omit details. Do not soften facts. And do not attempt to make this sound normal."
Her mask tilted.
"I assure you — it was not."
Elias exhaled and began.
"The trip began normally. Rellin and I left the valley before dawn. I sensed an examiner monitoring us from afar."
"Expected," Aster murmured. "Continue."
"We encountered an ambush test — a weighted sack dropped from above."
Aster clicked her tongue softly. "Handler Kesh's work. Sloppy. Continue."
"After that, the forest… changed."
One of Aster's brows—not seen, but sensed—rose behind the mask.
"Changed how?"
"Emotionally."
Aster paused. "Elaborate."
"There was… attention. Something watching. Not hostile. Not human."
"Mm." The Archivist Prime made a thoughtful sound. "Old forest magic. Possibly Ley drift. Rare but not deadly."
Elias met her gaze evenly.
"Then a Winter Fey child appeared."
Aster froze.
Completely.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop half a degree.
Slowly, she lowered herself into a chair.
"Begin again," she ordered. "And this time say the Fey part first."
Elias retold the encounter:
The tiny Winter Fey poking shadows.
Calling him a "maybe."
Warning them about trees that would "eat" them.
Rellin nearly passing out.
And finally — the Fey noble's arrival.
Aster didn't interrupt.
She didn't move.
She hardly breathed.
Only the subtle twitch of her fingers betrayed anything.
"A Winter Noble," she said at last, voice unnervingly soft. "A direct scion."
"Yes."
"And she spoke to you willingly."
"Yes."
"And she… left you alive."
"…Yes."
Aster leaned back slightly, exhaling through her teeth.
"Elias Marlow," she said, "you do realize how many operatives could work for this institution fifty years and never encounter a Fey noble and live?"
"I suspected."
"She spoke to you," Aster continued, "and was neither offended nor insulted by your existence."
"She seemed… curious."
Aster pressed a hand to her forehead.
"Curious," she repeated. "Winter nobles are never curious, Elias. They are decisive. Terrifying. Cold. Eternal. They do not take interest in mortals unless they plan to kill them, bargain with them, or steal their voice as decoration."
Elias blinked. "…Steal their—?"
"Another time," she said briskly. "Continue."
He described the frost flake that turned to shadow instead of water.
Aster stiffened.
"That is…" she whispered, "…not possible."
Elias frowned. "It happened."
Aster stared at him like he had just told her he swallowed a star.
"You must never speak of that flake outside this room."
"Why?"
"Because," she said slowly, "Frost of Ever-Winter does not yield. It does not mix. It consumes. The fact your shadow devoured it instead means your power stands on the same rung of reality.Winter magic freezes. Summer burns. Spring twists. Autumn decays. None of them touch shadow uninvited and even if one would, normal shadows should shatter"
"But it happened," Elias repeated.
"Yes," Aster said, "and that is precisely the problem."
She rose from her seat, slower now.
Measured.
"A Fey noble took notice of you. And the forest held you in a time-lock for seven days."
Elias hesitated. "…Is that bad?"
Aster stared at him.
Then she removed her mask.
Her tired, lined face looked even older now.
"It is so catastrophically bad," she said gently, "that if you were anyone else, I would be writing a eulogy instead of a report."
A beat passed.
Aster's eyes softened just slightly.
"But you are not anyone else," she admitted. "And perhaps… the world has decided to make something out of you."
Elias swallowed.
Aster continued quietly:
"Tell me everything again, from the moment you first sensed the forest."
Elias blinked. "Again?"
"Yes," she said, lowering herself once more. "We are going to write the most accurate— and careful —report this kingdom has ever produced."
Her tone dropped to a warning whisper.
"And Elias… make no mistake."
She leaned in, eyes sharp as knives.
"This incident will shape your future in ways neither of us can yet predict."
Aster exhaled slowly, bracing her palms on the table.
"Elias… you must understand something."
Her voice dropped to a tone he had never heard from her — not frustrated, not exasperated.
Wary.
"Fey interest is not a blessing. It is not luck. It is not charm. It is a problem."
Elias blinked. "…Why?"
Aster stared at him through the mask. When she spoke, it was precise, as if choosing each word could prevent a catastrophe.
"Because the Fey do not take interest in mortals. They take pieces of mortals."
She began pacing — controlled, contained steps that did not disturb a single grain of dust.
"When a Fey notices a mortal, it is for one of four reasons," she said.
She held up one finger.
"First:
You are amusing.
This wears off, and then they discard you."
Second finger.
"Second:
You are useful.
This lasts until you are no longer useful."
Third finger.
"Third:
You are dangerous.
This ends poorly for everyone."
Fourth finger.
"Fourth:
You are similar.
This is the rarest… and the deadliest."
Elias straightened slightly. "Similar how?"
Aster stopped pacing.
"Similar in truth," she said quietly. "In essence. In nature."
She let the silence stretch until it pressed in like a cold hand around the throat.
"Elias… Fey do not acknowledge humans as equals. Ever. Not nobles. Not children. Not even the most whimsical of them."
She turned toward him fully.
"But that Winter child saw you.
Truly saw you.
And she did not flinch."
Aster's voice darkened.
"And her mother — a noble of Winter — allowed you to speak in her presence without freezing your tongue in your mouth."
Elias frowned. "…I didn't say much."
"Exactly." Aster's jaw tightened. "Which means she was not listening to your words. She was listening to your shape. The shape of your existence."
Elias remained silent.
Aster leaned over the table.
"Winter is the most judgmental of the Courts. They do not flirt with uncertainty. They annihilate it. But you… she called you an 'interesting maybe.'"
Aster tapped the table once, sharply.
"You must avoid further Fey attention until we understand what you are."
Elias raised a brow. "You don't know?"
"No," Aster said. "And neither do the Fey. That is the problem."
She sat again, hands steepled.
"Things the Fey do not understand… they study. Things they study… they test. Things they test…"
Her eyes sharpened.
"…rarely survive."
Elias's throat tightened. "So what do I do?"
Aster leaned back, mask gleaming.
"For now? You stay in Mirage. You train. You keep quiet. You remain terribly, aggressively boring."
He blinked. "…Boring?"
"Yes." Aster nodded. "Do you know who the Fey do not follow? Boring people. Be boring, Elias."
"That's going to be difficult."
"Then practice."
Aster stood.
"But before any further planning…"
She gestured toward the door.
"…we must debrief the merchant fully. His report must align with ours — and more importantly — must exclude anything that endangers you or the kingdom."
Elias followed.
Aster added dryly:
"And if he is still screaming about carrots, I will sedate him."
They stepped into a nearby chamber — a simple stone room with chairs and a small water basin.
Rellin sat in one of the chairs.
Or rather — slumped.
He looked like a scarecrow someone had wrung out like wet laundry, hung in the sun, forgotten, then rehydrated badly.
He perked up when Elias entered.
Immediately suspicious.
"You. Shadow boy. Tell me honestly — am I cursed now?"
"No," Elias said.
Aster added, "Not yet."
Rellin screamed internally.
Aster clapped her hands once, brisk.
"Merchant Rellin. We need your recount of events. Begin from the start."
Rellin threw his hands up.
"The start? The start was fine — crisp morning, good horses, quiet road. THEN YOUR EXAMINER LAUNCHED A MOUNTAIN AT MY HEAD—"
"It was a weighted training sack," Aster corrected.
"IT WAS A BOULDER."
"Filled with stones."
"A BOULDER."
Aster wrote: Merchant exaggerates, emotional distress moderate.
Rellin continued, stabbing a finger in the air.
"Then the forest moved. Then the forest TRIED TO EAT US. THEN A TINY FAIRY CALLED ME CARROTS. And THEN—"
He pointed at Elias.
"THIS child made THREE grown bandits run away screaming without MOVING."
Elias tried: "That was situational manipulation—"
"DON'T CALL IT THAT. CALL IT WITCHCRAFT."
Aster scribbled calmly. Merchant displays acute but solid awareness of danger.
Rellin dragged his hands down his face.
"And THEN. AND THEN. A giant ice queen walked out of a TREE — and she didn't freeze us, she didn't kill us, she didn't curse us — no — she looked at him like he was a pastry she wasn't sure she wanted yet."
Elias coughed. "That's—"
"NO. SHE LOOKED AT YOU LIKE YOU WERE A QUESTION ON A TEST NO ONE STUDIED FOR."
Elias closed his mouth again.
Aster set her quill down.
"Merchant Rellin. Please summarize your overall emotional state during the encounter."
Rellin stared at her.
Then at Elias.
Then at the wall.
Finally, he whispered:
"I want to go home."
Aster nodded. "Very well. Your official statement will be finalized shortly."
Rellin sagged in relief.
Aster added:
"One final note. You must not speak of the Winter Fey outside authorized circles."
"I won't," Rellin said immediately. "If I ever see snow again I'm leaving the continent."
"Good," Aster said.
Rellin slumped deeper. "I smell like carrots. This is how it ends for me."
Aster stood and opened the door.
"Come, Elias. We have much to do. And Rellin—"
Rellin flinched.
"Take two days of rest. And avoid root vegetables."
Rellin sobbed into his hands.
As Aster and Elias stepped out of the chamber, she lowered her voice.
"That Winter child left you a rhyme," she said. "Rhymes are not gifts. They are warnings."
Elias nodded slowly.
Aster handed him the folded slip of frost-paper the Fey child had left.
It glimmered faintly.
Cold to the touch. In place where used to read" don't forget the time - your-maybe-friend ❄️ " now read:
"You're a fun maybe
in a world of no,
grow into a yes
and then we'll know."
Elias swallowed.
Aster watched him carefully.
"The message changed, Elias. Fey do not write twice unless the first message no longer applies." She said solemnly
"Do you understand what this means?"
"No."
"Good," she said. "Keep it that way as long as possible."
She turned, cloak whispering like a storm.
"Because the moment you understand that rhyme… your life will stop being simple."
Elias stared at the slip of paper—
and felt the shadows curl tightly around his fingers.
Aster Makes a Decision**
Elias folded the frost-paper, trying not to think about what it meant to receive a poem from a being that could freeze a river with a yawn.
Aster ushered him down the corridor, her footsteps sharp and quick—the stride of someone whose mind was running far ahead of her feet.
Only when they reached a junction did she stop.
Not dramatically.
Not slowly.
She simply halted, mask turning toward him with that frightening, unreadable focus of hers.
"Elias Marlow," she said.
"Yes, Prime-Three?"
She studied him for three seconds.
Then five.
Then much longer than was comfortable.
He wondered if she was trying to see the frost in his shadow or the shadow in his frost.
Finally—
"…You need a handler."
Elias blinked. "I thought the Shadow Path doesn't assign personal handlers."
"We don't," Aster said. "Handlers interfere with independence. They create predictability. They stunt adaptive growth."
She gestured at him, calm and factual.
"You are none of those things."
"…Thank you?" Elias said uncertainly.
"That was not a compliment," Aster replied.
Before he could ask more, footsteps approached.
Dragging footsteps.
Exhausted footsteps.
Rellin rounded the corner, escorted by two operatives like a prisoner being walked to a very soft bed.
He brightened upon seeing Elias, then dimmed, then brightened again, then panicked.
Elias wasn't sure what sequence he had just witnessed.
Aster turned fully toward the merchant.
"Merchant Rellin."
Rellin jumped. "YES?—I mean—yes. Prime-Three."
She stared at him.
Rellin stared back.
Sweated.
Aster tapped one finger against her mask.
"Merchant Rellin," she said, voice precise, "what is your profession?"
Rellin blinked. "I… uh… buy things. Then I sell them."
"And what is your nature?"
"My… nature?"
"Yes."
Rellin thought very hard.
Then produced the most honest answer he probably ever uttered:
"I am painfully average."
Aster nodded. "Exactly."
Rellin deflated. "This feels insulting, but I'm too tired to be sure."
Aster turned to Elias.
"Elias, do you know why you were nearly dragged off the mortal plane by Fey curiosity?"
"…Because I am a maybe?" he said.
"No." Aster flicked a hand. "Because you stand out."
Elias frowned. "I haven't said a word the entire trip."
"That is not standing out," Aster said dryly. "You stand out by existing."
"This is not about personality, Elias. It is about resonance. Compared to most souls, Rellin's truth is a blank sheet. Yours is ink."
She pointed at Rellin with the air of a general selecting a soldier for a doomed mission.
"He, however," she said, "is a void."
Rellin gaped. "I— excuse me?"
"A void," Aster repeated. "A hole in the tapestry of attention. The universe slides off him like rain on wax. People forget him mid-conversation."
"I— I do NOT!" Rellin protested.
"You were in Mirage for twelve years before anyone learned your name," Aster said flatly.
Rellin stared. "How—? You weren't even— How did you—?"
Aster ignored him.
She focused on Elias.
"You need cover. You need a shield. Not one of ours — that would draw more attention. You need someone so profoundly unremarkable that even the Fey would lose interest mid-sentence."
Rellin made a wounded noise. "I am right here."
"Exactly," Aster said.
She clasped her hands behind her back.
"Rellin will serve as your civilian anchor during early missions."
Elias blinked. "My what?"
Rellin blinked harder. "His what?"
"Your camouflage," Aster said. "Your plausible presence among normal people. Your excuse to travel certain routes without raising suspicion."
Elias processed.
"…You want me to hide behind a merchant."
"Yes."
"…And you want him to hide me."
"Yes."
Rellin stared at her like she had just asked him to duel a dragon with a spoon.
"Prime-Three," he sputtered, "I haul spices! I fix wheels! The most dangerous thing I've faced for YEARS was a tax collector with a grudge!"
Aster nodded. "And now you will face slightly more."
Rellin sat down on the floor and put his head in his hands.
Elias crouched beside him.
"I will keep you safe," Elias said quietly.
Rellin peeked through his fingers. "I am not worried about dying. I am worried about everything that happens BEFORE dying."
"…Fair," Elias admitted.
Aster clapped once—quiet, but sharp.
"This arrangement is mutually beneficial."
Rellin groaned. "For who?"
"For the Kingdom," Aster said.
"Of course," Rellin muttered. "Of course it is."
Aster continued, ignoring him:
"Your job, Elias, is to learn how not to draw notice. Rellin's job is to give you something mundane to blend into."
Elias nodded slowly.
"It makes sense," he said.
Rellin looked betrayed. "It does NOT make sense!"
Aster placed a hand lightly on Rellin's shoulder.
"Merchant. You have survived Winter Fey, wildlight distortion, bandits, and bureaucratic taxation. You are, evidently, unkillable."
"That's not COMFORTING!"
Aster turned.
"Come, Elias. We will discuss mission adjustments."
As they walked away, Rellin called weakly after them:
"AM I AT LEAST GETTING A PAY RAISE?!"
Aster's voice drifted back:
"No."
Rellin fell off the chair.
Elias walked beside Aster, the frost-paper rhyme tucked safely in his pocket, shadows brushing his heels like curious cats.
He felt the weight of the Fey's attention.
He felt the weight of Aster's expectations.
He felt the weight of Rellin's exhausted despair.
And for the first time in his life, Elias Marlow realized something dangerous:
He was no longer walking a path.
He was being noticed by the beings who shaped them.
Aster murmured, more to herself than to him:
"Winter watches those who walk well in darkness…"
Elias looked straight ahead.
"…Then I suppose I should learn to walk better in the light"
The shadows shivered in agreement.