After returning to Ial Themar, Axilya left for Rulmose without much ceremony. Ian, meanwhile, took Myrra with him to his private facility. It was her first time here. She'd always known he had a place like this, but never had the chance to visit.
"This is much better, well kept, and cleaner than I expected…" Myrra said, stepping through the doorway and scanning the room. The walls were lined with equipment and shelves of carefully labeled artifacts and texts, with a spacious table at the center for fieldwork.
Ian let out a small chuckle. "Well… Enira is the one who arranged this place. She checks in from time to time and makes sure it doesn't turn into a pile of half-disassembled junk."
"That makes sense," Myrra said with a faint smile.
She wandered quietly for a moment, noting how the space mirrored Ian's mind, precise, understated, and quietly obsessive. She turned back to him. "You really don't let anyone else in here, do you?"
Ian shrugged. "Not many people I trust with unfinished work."
He moved toward the center of the room and began unpacking the things he had brought from Myrra's father's lab. One by one, he laid them out in the open area, notes, broken devices, sealed vials, and fragments of old scripts, all carefully annotated and arranged.
Myrra joined him, kneeling beside the spread. "You kept everything intact," she murmured, impressed.
"I wasn't going to take chances," Ian said simply.
Then, glancing up at the delicate flower pin resting in Myrra's hair, Ian called out, "Flori, I need your eyes."
With a faint shimmer, the flower unfurled and glowed, rising into the air. Flori transformed into his usual form.
"Alright," Flori said, stretching his limbs. He drifted slowly between the scattered items, glowing eyes scanning carefully. He tapped on a few odd devices, sniffed at a couple of sealed vials, then paused over a group of faded papers and old stone tablets.
"Nothing important as far as I can tell," he muttered. "Most of it is broken, outdated stuff. Some of these are really old, like the script and those tablets, but nothing else stands out."
"Older scripts, huh..." Ian knelt beside the tablets, studying the carvings in detail. The markings didn't resemble any modern dialect. Complex, layered, he couldn't make sense of it.
Ian muttered under his breath, "...maybe Eryndor can help."
He stood, brushing the dust from his hands as Myrra took a few steps back, looking over everything they had arranged. Her eyes lingered on the tablets, the faded notes, the vials. A quiet stillness took hold of her, she wasn't speaking, just... remembering.
Ian stepped behind her and gently wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned into him without a word, resting her hands lightly over his.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice low.
Myrra nodded, though she didn't look away. "It's strange... seeing all of this again. Like pieces of a life I thought I'd left behind."
Ian rested his chin against her shoulder, letting the silence stretch for a few heartbeats.
"We'll make sense of it. Together," he said softly.
She turned her head just a little, enough for their cheeks to touch. "I know."
After a while, once everything had been locked down and sealed in place, they stepped out.
After resting for some time they returned back to the apartment.
The next day marked a return to routine. Ian settled in at his workstation in the research facility. He didn't come here as often anymore, most of his time was spent working alongside Yeonelyth at the alternate facility, developing the prototype.
The door slid open quietly, and Wiokz stepped in.
"Hi Ian," he said, holding a box in his arms.
"Hey, hi." Ian turned from his screen, stretching slightly. "Been a while."
Wiokz gave a small laugh and placed the box down in front of him. "The Umbrahang core you requested. It's here. But... the quality isn't too great. Honestly, all the good ones were bought up a while back."
He stepped aside and tapped the box. "Next harvest season's not too far off, though. If there's still time before you need it, I can try to bring a high quality one when I return from vacation."
"Yeah, don't worry about it," Ian said "Maybe I'll come by and take a look myself. If that's alright."
Wiokz looked pleased. "Yeah? That'd be great! You'd always be welcome."
They chatted a bit more, before Wiokz waved and left.
Once he was gone, Ian turned back to the package. He unlatched the lid and carefully lifted the core from its bed of cushioned moss.
The Umbrahang core was dense and heavy in his hands, a smooth chunk of wood with deep green hues and a faint iridescence under the light. Thin, natural filaments of gold threaded through the grain like veins, catching subtle reflections as it shifted. Its surface still held a breath of its origin, earthy, resinous, and faintly sweet, like ancient trees after rain. A muted glow pulsed gently at its center, steady but quiet.
"Not bad," Ian murmured, weighing it in his palm. "But a better quality one would definitely be better… For now, this'll work as a backup."
He set it aside carefully and leaned back in his chair, glancing absently at the shelves around him.
Vacation, huh...
It had already been nearly half a year since he'd come here. He hadn't even noticed how long it had been. Most of his time had blurred between labs, classes, and scattered nights with Myrra. No real pause.
He'd head back to Lylva during this long vacation. Visit everyone. Check how things were going. Maybe see his old home again. And before returning here, stop by Wiokz's place and choose the Umbrahang core himself.
The next day, Ian was back in his private facility at Ial Themar. The room was quiet, lit by soft overhead lights and the occasional flicker from holographic displays. Across the wide table, Eryndor sat hunched over the old tablets and papers, carefully brushing off fragments and scanning over aged symbols with practiced eyes.
Ian approached, setting down a fresh mug of tea nearby.
"Thanks again for coming," he said.
Eryndor gave a faint wave without looking up. "No, no. It's fine. I'd rather be doing this than dealing with reports."
He leaned a little closer to one of the older slabs, fingers tracing the edges of the markings.
"This script…" he said slowly. "It doesn't seem to be from any known civilization on Idilia. At least not one that's been recorded. The structuring's unfamiliar. I'll need to examine it in more detail."
Ian crossed his arms, studying it alongside him. "Can you do it?"
"I should be able to," Eryndor replied. "Eventually. These things take time."
"Good," Ian nodded. "Let me know if you need anything, tools, references, whatever. I'll get it."
Eryndor nodded once, already absorbed in the puzzle again.
They exchanged a few more words, idle pleasantries, before Ian quietly excused himself and left the room.
In the days that followed, time returned to its usual rhythm, at least outwardly. Ian fell back into his regular schedule, balancing between research facility work and the course schedule. But beneath the surface, his mind was elsewhere, heavily preoccupied.
He continued working closely with Eryndor, poring over fragments of the ancient script, cross-referencing forgotten dialects and obscure historical records. Progress was slow, but Eryndor's insight was proving valuable.
Even so, he'd been thinking more and more about Myrra, the "Lord's Blood," the marble she had swallowed as a child.
Ian still didn't know what it truly was. Although it had never shown any overt signs of harm, there was always that lingering uncertainty. What if it was simply dormant? What if its nature wasn't passive, just waiting for a condition, an age, an event, a trigger? They had no way of knowing. And the longer it remained inside her, the more the unease settled in his chest.
It had become part of her, yes. But what kind of part?
He had thought of asking Yeonelyth. She might recognize it. Maybe even know exactly what it was. But he hadn't made up his mind yet.
Yeonelyth was deeply mysterious. Even someone as powerful and brilliant as High Scholar Durlan, someone Ian could at least try to make sense of, seemed far more graspable by comparison. But with Yeonelyth, nothing was clear. She felt distant, beyond the reach of reason or prediction. Ian suspected she might be extremely powerful, maybe far more than anyone realized, but he didn't know the full extent of it.
That uncertainty made him hesitate. She always carried an air of distance, like she knew more than she let on. And when she helped, it was never clear why. Her reasons were her own.
Ian wasn't sure if involving Yeonelyth would bring clarity, or only make things worse. She might be his last resort if all else failed, but until then, he'd rather spend his days in relative peace, working with Eryndor to decipher the old scripts.
What he didn't know was that far away, in the shadowed depths of Hilchester Gorge, trouble was already stirring.
The ground trembled. Faint cracks spread outward through the darkened soil, pulsing faintly with a reddish hue. The air was dry and bitter, heavy with the scent of iron and ash. The ritual site was crude, but effective, a desecrated circle etched into the rock, surrounded by splinters of broken bone and scorched earth.
Vulas stood at the center, sweat streaking down his face, breath uneven. But he grinned, unhinged, satisfied.
"Finally," he muttered, his voice rough. "It's done."
His expression twisted into something darker. Shadows clung to his features, amplifying the madness flickering behind his eyes. "One more step," he whispered. "Just one more, and I'll be Second Order… like my father."
But even as he said it, his mind drifted, back to Ial Themar, back to Enira. The grin on his face stretched crueler now, warped by obsession. "I'll make that bitch pay… and everyone tied to her."
He stepped forward, cracking the brittle edge of the circle underfoot.
A gruff voice sounded nearby. "You did it, nephew."
Kolvar emerged from the gloom, arms folded, face unreadable.
Vulas straightened, wiping a streak of soot from his cheek. His grin remained, but his voice softened with a rare flicker of respect. "Wouldn't have been possible without your help, Uncle. I know that. Your knowledge… your guidance. I'm grateful." He dipped his head slightly, still proud, still twisted, but not without deference.
Then his tone shifted again, sharp and venomous. "Now, I'll make them all pay."
Kolvar gave a faint nod. "Of course, nephew. As you decide."
He turned slightly, glancing toward the darkened gorge beyond. "Come. We must return to Ial Themar soon."
Vulas blinked, surprised by the urgency in his uncle's voice. But he didn't ask questions. He didn't care. His mind was consumed by revenge, by the image of Enira, how he would reduce her to nothing but his plaything, and Yelthara, how he would make her feel every ounce of his wrath along with Ian and Eryndor.
As they walked, Kolvar kept his gaze forward, his thoughts elsewhere.
Something wasn't right. He hadn't heard from Anarzee or the others in the last few days. He didn't know what had gone wrong, but he knew better than to move carelessly. Let Vulas storm ahead, reckless and burning with vengeance, that was fine. Let him test the waters first. If there was danger ahead, better that it strike Vulas than catch Kolvar unaware.