Chapter 179
The air across the realms grew heavy with anticipation as the announcement spread: the united guild had cleared the last city. What had once seemed impossible was now reality. Streets in countless kingdoms erupted with cheers, taverns filled with voices raised in celebration, and the weary masses who had followed every battle felt the weight of their hopes finally rise.
The clearing of that city wasn't just another victory, it was the mark of change, the promise that new realms would open, long-sealed gates now ready to awaken. For some, it meant opportunity. For others, danger. But for all, it meant history was unfolding before their eyes.
In the merchant kingdom of Solnara Cererindu, silence reigned where joy filled other lands.
Within the vaulted hall of the royal palace, King Deryth Cererindur sat forward on his carved oaken throne, fingers pressed together in a tense clasp. Beside him, Queen Nimriel's usually serene face carried a quiet crease of worry, her emerald eyes reflecting the light from the enchanted mirror that shimmered at the center of the chamber.
Around them, their children sons clad in formal tunics, daughters robed in silken gowns—watched with barely hidden excitement. The mirror did not show everything, but enough: flashes of fire across ruined walls, silhouettes of warriors standing triumphant, and the slow unraveling of the cursed mist that had long chained the city.
The source of these visions were the transmittal insects arcane creations released at the edges of every battle. They were small, near-invisible, enchanted to follow tension itself, drawn like moths to heat. Where fear, danger, and chaos grew strongest, they swarmed, transmitting back their fractured glimpses to the enchanted mirrors in distant halls.
"It is done…" Queen Nimriel whispered, her voice filled with both awe and unease.
"Yes," Deryth muttered, his jaw tightening. "The gates will open soon. Other realms… other markets." He glanced at his children, who leaned forward, spellbound. "And with them, new dangers. We must be ready."
One of his daughters, the youngest, clapped her hands in delight. "But Father, isn't it wonderful? New lands, new treasures!"
The king's stern gaze softened for only a heartbeat. "Yes, child. Wonderful. And terrible. Do not forget, the same gates that open to us, open to others. Not all who walk through them will come as friends."
The mirror shimmered again, showing the battered but victorious united guild gathered at the city's heart. The hall in Solnara Cererindu held its breath. For all their wealth, for all their trade and ships that carried goods across the seas, the Cererindurs knew this moment was not just the birth of opportunity. It was the opening of an age none of them could yet predict.
Among those who looked upon the clearing of the last city with unease was the Holy Empire of Álfheim, a land born not of conquest but of divine legacy. Its origin traced back to the Maiden Álfheim, the mortal daughter of the God of Light, Aether, who had been sent to heal the world when the Netherborn armies and the ancient dragon race nearly scoured the northern lands into nothingness. That war, fought thousands of years ago, had left scars so deep they reshaped mountains, split rivers, and bent the very climate of the realm. From that devastation rose a kingdom built on faith and remembrance, swearing that such darkness would never again be allowed to consume the living.
Now, in the present age, the Holy Empire was led by Holy Vicar Arnis Feldreldre, a figure both revered and feared. Arnis was tall and lean, his frame wrapped always in robes of pure white embroidered with threads of gold that shimmered like sunlight when he moved. His face, sharp and ascetic, was crowned by long silver hair that fell in clean, deliberate strands, as though not even the wind dared disturb it. His eyes were the most striking—icy blue, cold as glacier glass, yet burning with a fanatic's intensity that could pierce through even the most seasoned noble or general.
Arnis's personality was a paradox. To his people, he was a shepherd, soft-spoken, deliberate, able to soothe the broken with words that carried the weight of scripture. Yet beneath that calm exterior burned an uncompromising zeal. He was a man who believed utterly in destiny, that the light of Aether still guided Álfheim and that it was his divine duty to guard it against corruption. He tolerated no weakness, no wavering, and no challenge to the holy laws. To allies, he was disciplined and inspiring, a figure of unyielding faith. To enemies, he was merciless, capable of wielding both words and armies with the same precision.
In his private councils, Arnis revealed the edge that made many fear him. He was calculating, often thinking three or four moves ahead, and though he preached peace, he never forgot that true peace was preserved only by strength. To him, the opening of other realms was not an opportunity—it was a threat. The same gates that promised riches and discovery could just as easily invite the return of the Netherborn, or worse, the dragons that had once nearly ended the world. And Arnis Feldreldre, the Holy Vicar, was determined that Álfheim would not be caught unprepared when the light and the darkness clashed once more.
The High Synod chamber of Álfheim was lit by crystal chandeliers that caught the sun's rays through stained-glass windows, scattering golden prisms across the polished marble floor. Robes of white and silver rustled as the elders of the realm took their seats, their voices murmuring in anxious currents. The air itself seemed taut, waiting for the pronouncement of the Holy Vicar.
Arnis Feldreldre rose from his throne-like chair at the head of the chamber, the golden crozier in his hand tapping once against the floor. The sound carried like a hammer blow, silencing the gathering. His eyes—piercing, lined by sleepless nights—swept across the assembly before his voice, low but edged with iron, filled the chamber.
"My brothers and sisters of Álfheim," he began, his tone steady though the pulse beneath betrayed unease, "the world is shifting in ways not written even in the Prophecies of Aether. A gate has opened—not a minor breach, but a realm long sealed, the Empire of Graves. For centuries, it remained a tomb no mortal hand could clear, a wound in creation itself. And now…" He paused, his lips tightening, "…now it has yielded."
Gasps spread like wildfire. Several elders leaned forward, knuckles white upon their staffs, while others whispered fervent prayers.
Arnis continued, each word like a stone laid upon the chamber's foundation. "The Netherborn, though shattered and scattered in ages past, has found a herald anew. He hides not behind mask or shadow, but walks the earth openly, bearing the name Daniel Laeanna Rothchester, noble by blood, but touched by something far darker. He is the hand chosen by that which once sought to drown our world in endless night."
He lifted his crozier slightly, as if to ward off the very thought. "Do not mistake me—this man is no phantom of myth. He is flesh, bone, and will. And he has accomplished what none in recorded history dared believe possible. He and his companions have breached the Empire of Graves. Cleared it. Claimed it."
A hush fell deeper still, as if the chamber itself recoiled. Some of the Synod trembled, others seethed, but all understood the weight of those words. For if such a place could be overcome, then the balance between light and shadow was not as firm as they had believed.
Arnis's voice lowered, thick with foreboding. "What does it mean, when the impossible is made possible? When a herald of the Netherborn reshapes destiny itself? Will this Daniel be the downfall of nations, or the harbinger of an age we cannot yet comprehend? The people look to us for guidance, for hope. But I confess, before the Light of Aether, that even I do not yet see the path clearly."
He stood in silence for a long moment, the golden light streaming through the stained glass painting his solemn figure in hues of fire and blood. Then he raised his crozier high, his voice thundering across the chamber.
"Prepare Álfheim. For the herald of shadow walks free, and the world itself will bend—or break—around him."
The chamber erupted, not with unity, but with discord, fear, denial, and desperate prayers clashing together. Outside, the bells of the holy city tolled, but their sound no longer brought peace.
In the holy city of Lúnareth, the heart of Álfheim, fear spread faster than wildfire. Word of the Empire of Graves posibility to be cleared, an act that defied every tale and scripture etched into the realm's history, fell from the mouths of travelers, priests, and merchants alike, twisting with each telling. By evening, the plazas were filled with thousands, and by the next dawn, it had grown into millions across the realm, a storm of voices lifted to the skies.
"They should have left it sealed!" cried a woman clutching her child, her eyes wild with desperation. "The gods closed it for a reason!"
"The herald walks among men!" shouted another, his fists raised toward the heavens. "If the Netherborn has chosen anew, then doom will spill from the Empire's gates!"
In the marketplaces, stalls were abandoned as sellers joined the swelling crowds, chanting prayers not of hope but of terror. Bells rang across the city, meant to call people to calm worship, yet each toll only reminded them that the gods were silent in this hour of dread. Songs of faith turned into cries of despair.
"They've forgotten the old laws!" an elder shrieked from the temple steps. "Blinded by quests, blinded by wealth! They traded the sacred for thrill and triumph. And now? Now shadow comes to collect its due!"
The cries mounted until the great avenues themselves seemed to tremble beneath the weight of so many voices, all screaming at once calling upon the gods, demanding the Synod to act, demanding their Holy Vicar to strike down the growing threat before it spread beyond control.
At the heart of the city, Arnis Feldreldre stood upon the balcony of the Grand Basilica, watching the sea of humanity surge and break like a furious tide. Their panic was raw, unbridled, but to Arnis it was not chaos, it was opportunity.
He raised his crozier, letting the golden staff catch the last light of the sun, and the crowd stilled as though held in a single breath. His voice, carried by divine amplifications of the cathedral's wards, thundered across the multitude:
"My children of Álfheim! Do you see now the peril of forsaking the gods? Of chasing shadows of gold, of bowing to the idols of thrill and selfish triumph? You traded devotion for indulgence, and in your blindness, the gates of old curses have been stirred open again!"
The crowd roared, some in agreement, others in guilty silence. Arnis's eyes burned with a fervor that seemed to cut through the gathering night.
"But fear not! The Light of Aether has not abandoned us. I, your servant, will lead the holy host! We will purge this land of false worship, of greed, of the poison that has blinded our hearts! We will restore Álfheim's faith, and through that faith, close forever the path of shadow!"
The people erupted into cheers, desperate and wild. They did not hear the cold calculation beneath his words, nor see how he turned their terror into a weapon. To them, their Vicar had become the voice of divine retribution, the flame in the darkness.
But within the cloisters of the Basilica, the Synod's whispers grew uneasy. For while the people demanded protection, Arnis had seized something more dangerous—an excuse to cleanse, to purge, to wield holy power not just against the shadow beyond, but against those within who did not bow as he decreed.
The enchanted battle wagon rocked gently over the uneven road, its wards humming faintly like a lullaby. Addison Lazarus sat comfortably on one of the cushioned benches, her eyes half-closed but sharp as ever. Across from her, Alexsei Sokolov, the White Devil himself, rested in his reinforced wheelchair, the hulking seven-foot golem looming at his back like a silent guardian. Charlotte sat beside her mother, legs tucked up, trying not to laugh at the way Alexsei scowled at the wagon's swaying motion.
Addison broke the quiet first, her voice calm, almost teasing.Addison: "So… this young Rothchester boy. Daniel. Tell me, Charlotte, is he really as brilliant as people claim, or is this just another story that grew legs after the smoke cleared?"
Charlotte tilted her head, thoughtful.Charlotte: "It's not a story, Mother. I've seen it with my own eyes. He cast a nuclear-class spell three times in a single battle, three. And each one struck exactly where he intended, without collateral on our side. No hesitation, no wasted mana. Just… precision."
Alexsei let out a low chuckle, the sound gravelly.Alexsei: "Three times? Hah. Most rankers I knew would burn themselves out after the first. Or worse, lose control and scorch half their allies along with their enemies. And he's what—barely twenty?"
Charlotte nodded, her eyes bright.Charlotte: "Barely. But it's not just power. It's the way he thinks. He doesn't panic. He doesn't follow a script, either. He sees the flow of battle differently. Almost like… he's already three steps ahead of everyone else."
Addison leaned forward slightly, studying her daughter's expression.Addison: "Three steps ahead? Or reckless enough to make it look like foresight?"
Charlotte frowned, but before she could answer, Alexsei raised a hand, smirking.Alexsei: "No, she's right. I've fought enough so-called prodigies to tell the difference. There's a calm in the way some people move. Like they belong in the middle of chaos. I never met Rothchester, but from what I hear? He isn't a young man chasing glory. He's… hm. What's the word? Anchored. Even when everything burns, he stays rooted."
Addison tapped her fingers against the armrest of the bench.Addison: "Anchored, perhaps. But he's also Neatherborn, isn't he? That alone makes him dangerous. Disciple or not, no one walks that path without paying a price."
Charlotte glanced down, her voice softer.Charlotte: "He carries it well. The shadow doesn't own him… not yet. If anything, it feels like he owns it. That's what makes him different, Mother. He doesn't just wield power—he shoulders it."
The wagon jolted, and the golem steadied Alexsei's chair with mechanical precision. The White Devil smirked, shaking his head.Alexsei: "If what she says is true, Addison, your generation might finally have a successor worth respecting. But tell me, why do you really care? You've retired. You don't need to weigh a boy's potential."
Addison's eyes narrowed, a trace of her old fire flashing through.Addison: "Because strength like that doesn't come without consequence. If he is as sharp as you both claim, then he'll change the balance of everything, guilds, empires, even the gods people worship. I want to know if this Rothchester is just another passing star, or if he's the kind that pulls others into his orbit."
Charlotte smiled faintly, almost proudly.Charlotte: "He already has, Mother. That's why we follow him. That's why the united guild listens when he speaks. It's not just power, it's conviction. He makes us believe that even the impossible… can be cleared."
A silence settled for a moment, broken only by the creak of wheels and the hum of enchantments. Addison leaned back, considering, while Alexsei's smirk deepened, as though amused by what awaited.
Alexsei: "Hmph. Then let's see if your young noble survives the next siege. Words are fine, Charlotte, but war eats geniuses for breakfast."
Addison: "And if he does survive… perhaps the gods themselves will have to take notice."
The three sat in silence after that, each lost in their own thoughts, Charlotte with quiet pride, Addison with measured caution, and Alexsei with the grim amusement of a man who had seen legends rise and fall.
The door of the battle wagon creaked open, letting in a gust of wind and the chatter of voices outside. Mary Kaye stepped in first, her arms folded, her practical eyes sweeping over the interior. Behind her came Cody and Farrah, the pair carrying a bundle of documents and half-eaten travel rations.
Mary Kaye: "Checking in on you, Aunt Addison. And making sure our guest hasn't withered away under all this talking."
Alexsei smirked, tapping the armrest of his chair.Alexsei: "I've endured worse than endless chatter, I assure you. Though your aunt here asks sharper questions than most swords."
Addison gave the faintest smile at that, before her eyes flicked to her niece.Addison: "Mary, Cody, Farrah—come in. Sit. We were just discussing Lord Daniel Rothchester. Or should I say… trying to untangle what exactly he is."
Farrah perked up immediately, sliding onto the bench beside Charlotte.Farrah: "What do you mean what he is? He's a player, isn't he? A noble-born, sure, but he cleared dungeons same as us. He fought side by side with Jacob, Bonnie, Natasha. That sounds like a player to me."
Alexsei gave a low laugh, shaking his head.Alexsei: "That's what you think. But listen closer. The Tower we played in, the one my sister and I bled through—it followed rules. Scenarios. Patterns. Always recycled, always constrained. You knew where the threads led, even if they twisted. But this?" He gestured toward the enchanted window where the outside shimmered with starlight. "This is raw. The flow has changed. I think the Old Gods tore out the script. No filters. No rails. Just unbound Tower. And in that chaos… figures like Rothchester appear."
Addison leaned in, her eyes sharp on Alexsei.Addison: "You're saying he's not a player."
Alexsei: "I'm saying he might not be. Think about it. How many of you have seen him access knowledge no player should? How many times has he moved as though he already knew the ending of the play?"
The wagon grew quiet for a moment, until Mary Kaye exhaled, her tone grim.
Mary Kaye: "He knew. Back at the last quest, he knew the master centipede's weakness before any of us even realized where to strike. Most of us were fumbling in the dark, testing, probing, waiting for an opening, but Daniel? He moved as if he had already fought it a hundred times before.
"And it wasn't just that. The soldiers he brought with him, the way he positioned them to clear a path, it was precise. Beyond anything we could have planned. He didn't waste a single step, not a single life, unless it served the greater purpose. Even when his choices looked harsh, even when they seemed erratic at first glance, there was always a reason. Always a shape to it.
"It felt deliberate. Too deliberate. Like he wasn't discovering the path forward, but retracing it. As if he wasn't predicting the battle, he was… remembering it. Remembering something the rest of us never lived."
Her words lingered in the air like smoke, heavy and unsettling, as though she had just named aloud the unease that had been gnawing at all of them.
Cody, who had been quiet until now, frowned and rubbed his chin.
Cody: "And don't forget what he said after. He mentioned the Tower itself. Not the floor. Not the quest. The Tower. Every resident we've ever met, NPCs, spirits, even monsters, they don't know. They can't know. They live in their fragments, their pieces of the story. But Rothchester. he talks as if he's looking at the whole thing from the outside."
Farrah blinked, suddenly uneasy.Farrah: "That… that's impossible. NPCs don't gain that kind of awareness. And if he's a player, how would he know things even veterans like you two never learned?"
Addison tilted her head, her voice slow, probing.Addison: "Unless he's neither. Not one of us, not one of them. A… construct. A herald the Tower itself created when the Old Gods shattered the script. A copy given life."
Charlotte shifted uncomfortably beside her mother, speaking in a softer tone.Charlotte: "No. I've fought along side with him. I've watched him bleed. He smiles, he doubts, he get upset. He's real. Whatever he is, he's not some hollow piece of code written by the Tower."
Alexsei chuckled darkly.Alexsei: "getting upset don't prove you're real, girl. Puppets can be dressed in flesh. Echoes can sing. The question isn't whether he acts real, it's whether the Tower made him to be real."
Mary Kaye cut in sharply, shaking her head.Mary Kaye: "It doesn't matter how he came to be. What matters is that he's leading people. People listen when he speaks. Even our strongest veterans look to him as if he's the natural commander. That's not something you can fake."
Addison leaned back, her voice low, thoughtful.Addison: "And that makes him dangerous. Because if he is something born of the Tower, then whose side does he stand on? Ours or its?"
Cody muttered, almost to himself.Cody: "If the Tower changed… maybe it doesn't even have a side anymore."
The words lingered, heavy in the air. The wagon rolled on, but the mood had shifted, curiosity turning to unease, unease to quiet dread.
Alexsei broke the silence with a crooked smile.Alexsei: "Well, whether Rothchester's a man, a player, or the Tower's own herald… he fights like a devil. And if he keeps clearing impossible quests, we'll all have to choose soon, follow him into the unknown, or stand against him."
Addison nodded slowly, her gaze distant.Addison: "And gods help us, Alexsei, I can't yet tell which choice is safer."
The wagon rocked gently, the silence thick after Mary Kaye's unsettling words.
Alexsei leaned forward in his chair, his eyes narrowing with the weight of suspicion.Alexsei: "That's a bold claim, girl. You're saying he remembered the battle? Not foresight. Not instinct. Memory. How can you prove that?"
Addison tilted her head, her tone sharp, probing.Addison: "I've seen veterans act on experience. But Daniel has no such history in the Tower. So what makes you so certain it wasn't luck or raw instinct? Don't give me riddles—give me something concrete."
Mary Kaye drew a slow breath, her expression tightening.Mary Kaye: "Concrete? Fine. There was another time. Not just the centipede."
The others leaned in as her voice grew heavier, carrying the weight of something she'd been turning over in her mind.Mary Kaye:"I remember when the War Forge itself came to me. Out of nowhere. They wanted construction materials, rare ones, ones no guild had stockpiled. And they didn't just come marching from the capital. They stepped out of a transfer gate, like they had planned it all along.
"And Daniel… he was there. Beside the Netherborn. And with them was a figure I'd only heard of in stories Siglorr Bouldergrove. Three feet, nine inches, a beard down to his chest, scar running across his left arm. Muscular, arrogant, short-tempered, just like the records said. Siglorr was supposed to have died centuries ago, three hundred and fifty years at least. Yet there he was, alive as ever, grumbling and forging, like the years hadn't touched him."
Charlotte frowned, almost whispering.Charlotte: "An NPC resurfacing after centuries? That… shouldn't even be possible. Not without the Tower reshaping the scenario."
Addison's eyes sharpened.Addison: "And you say Daniel was standing beside him? With the Netherborn?"
Mary Kaye nodded firmly.Mary Kaye: "Yes. Clear as day."
Addison leaned back slowly, fingers drumming against the bench, her mind racing.Addison: "Strange. Because I've heard whispers of that event too. But in those stories… the 'Netherborn mentor' wasn't described. No details. Just shadows and speculation. Almost as if the story was built to mislead."
Before Addison could press further, Alexsei let out a sharp, humorless laugh that cut through the low hum of the wagon.
Alexsei: "Mentor? Don't be fooled, Addison. There was never a mentor. No hidden Netherborn guide, no secret teacher passing down forbidden knowledge. I've spent years digging through the records of the so-called Netherborn race arc, tracing every mention, every fragment. I even followed rumors tied to the Evolved Drake appearances, cross-referencing every survivor report—and the pieces never add up.
"The stories about a successor were staged. Carefully constructed. They planted the idea of lineage, of training, of someone else carrying the torch. But it was all a misdirection. The moment the successor was said to appear—at the evolve Drake, at the events we've witnessed—it was always him. Daniel Rothchester. Not a pupil, not a copy. Not someone inheriting the role. Always him.
"There was no other Netherborn moving behind the scenes, no secret hand guiding the guilds or the Tower's trials. The stories of mentorship, of a successor taking the mantle—it was meant to keep us looking the wrong way while the truth walked right in front of us. Rothchester was never following. He was never guided. He didn't step into a role someone else carved out. He was the architect all along."
Alexsei's gaze hardened, his voice carrying a sharp edge of disbelief and awe combined. "We spent centuries expecting a legend to manifest. We were looking for echoes of the past. But the past itself was alive, and it was Rothchester. The Tower didn't create him. The Tower only let him be. Everything else… all the stories, the supposed teachers, the empty succession—it was just smoke and mirrors."
Addison's eyes narrowed slightly, her mind racing to connect all the dots Alexsei and Mary Kaye had laid before her. She let out a quiet, almost incredulous laugh, more to herself than anyone else.
Addison: "You know… the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. And yet… it feels so impulsive. Rash. Like he's stumbling through the story he himself became part of, trying to fix it as he goes. Every choice, every maneuver, it's as if he's reacting in the moment, not thinking five steps ahead. Not carefully plotting. He's… chaotic."
Charlotte tilted her head, frowning. "Chaotic? But he's always accurate. He always succeeds."
Addison: "Yes, but look closer. Accuracy doesn't mean foresight. It doesn't mean planning. Sometimes, it's just… a desperate attempt to hold the narrative together before it collapses. That's what I see here. He rushes headlong into scenarios, making bold moves without thinking of the consequences, like a novice writer crafting a fantasy tale, tossing plot points around and hoping they'll all connect in the end. Impulsive. Reckless. Brilliantly so, but reckless nonetheless."
Alexsei's smirk deepened, almost approvingly.Alexsei: "A novice writer, huh? I suppose that's fitting. Except the Tower isn't a book. It's reality, woven with consequences and forces far beyond one's control. And yet… he shapes it anyway, ignoring the rules, ignoring the warnings. Either he's a genius, or a fool. Maybe both."
Addison leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, her expression a mix of exasperation and admiration.Addison: "Exactly. That's what makes him terrifying, and infuriating. He acts as if the world bends to his will, when really he's just improvising to hold it together. And somehow… somehow it works. Against every expectation. He's impulsive, lacking common sense at times, yet capable of feats that would stagger even the most seasoned of players. It's… reckless brilliance, if that makes any sense."
Mary Kaye nodded, her voice quiet but firm.Mary Kaye: "It makes perfect sense to me. That's why he always surprises us. That's why the Tower, the guild, even the Netherborn themselves… they can't anticipate him. He's not following a path—they are. He's shaping it as he goes, like a writer scribbling in the margins of reality itself."
A murmur spread through the wagon, the younger players shifting uneasily. Confusion rippled among them, their eyes darting between Alexsei and Addison.
Cody: "Wait, are you saying Daniel is the original Netherborn? That the past and the present are the same person?"
Farrah: "That doesn't make sense. How can he be both the old legend and the new disciple?"
Addison chuckled suddenly, the sound low and cutting, though there was no humor in it. She pointed at the others, her gaze sharp.Addison: "Don't you see? That's the misdirection. The Tower spun two stories—'the previous Netherborn' and 'the new Netherborn.' But they were never two people. It was one all along. Daniel. The so-called 'successor' was only a mask to stop us from asking questions about who he really is, or where he truly came from."
The words hung in the air like a blade, and for a moment, no one spoke.
Mary Kaye clenched her fists, her voice quiet but firm.Mary Kaye: "So it was never about inheritance. Never about being chosen. He didn't just step into a role, he was the role. From the beginning."
Alexsei gave a slow nod, his expression dark but certain.Alexsei: "Exactly. It was him all along."
The enchanted wagon rumbled on, but its passengers sat in heavy silence, the weight of revelation pressing against them. For the first time, they weren't just asking who Daniel Rothchester was. They were asking what it meant if he had always been part of the Tower's deepest weave, whether by fate, or by design.
The younger guild members shifted uneasily on the benches, their eyes wide, absorbing the words of Addison, Alexsei, and Mary Kaye. For a moment, the battle wagon felt smaller, as if the weight of Daniel Rothchester's actions pressed against the enchanted walls.
Cody leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper."Wait… so you're saying he doesn't follow the Tower's rules? He just… improvises?"
Mary Kaye nodded, her gaze steady."Exactly. Every move he's made, every quest cleared, every battle won… it looks like genius, but underneath it all, he's improvising. Making it up as he goes. And yet somehow, somehow it works."
Farrah shook her head, still trying to process."That… that's insane. How can someone just walk into a situation and have it all fall into place? Isn't that impossible? Even the best veterans… we always plan, we always double-check."
Alexsei let out a low, humorless chuckle."Impossible? Perhaps. But that's Rothchester for you. He doesn't plan the way we do. He doesn't calculate odds. He feels the path, reacts to the moment, and forces the world to catch up. That's why he's dangerous, and why he's brilliant."
Charlotte, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke, her voice tight with awe and a little fear."It's like… like he's part of the Tower, but also separate from it. Like he sees all the strings at once, but doesn't follow them, he moves through them, weaving his own pattern."
Cody's jaw dropped."So… he's reckless? But it works? He could fail at any moment, couldn't he?"
Addison leaned forward, her expression softening just slightly for the younger ones."Yes. He could. That's the paradox. He is impulsive, sometimes foolish, lacking the careful common sense most of us rely on. But in his impulsiveness, he finds solutions no one else could see. He risks everything, yet somehow, he survives. And in surviving, he shapes the impossible into reality."
Farrah's eyes darted between the older guild veterans, disbelief mixing with awe."So we… follow him? Even knowing he's reckless? Even knowing he might just—"
Alexsei cut in sharply."That's the point. Following him isn't safe. It's terrifying. It's unpredictable. And yet, the alternative is standing still while the world moves past you, or worse, collapses under forces you don't understand. Rothchester doesn't just act. He forces action. And sometimes… action is all that matters."
A heavy silence settled over the wagon. The younger members stared at one another, the weight of responsibility sinking in. They had trained, they had prepared, but nothing could have prepared them for someone like Daniel Laeanna Rothchester: a man who embodied both brilliance and recklessness, genius and impulsiveness, certainty and chaos.
Charlotte broke the silence finally, her voice trembling slightly but firm."We'll have to trust him. Even if it terrifies us. Even if it doesn't make sense. Because if we don't… nothing else will hold together."