The Guild meeting did not disperse quietly.Not when the name Emberroot Plains hung in the air like a storm waiting to break.
Guildmaster Veyran's voice carried over the murmurs. "The Inquisitors have confirmed Darion Vale's testimony. His possession began in Emberroot—specifically along the northern caravan route, near the obsidian ridges. Until we know what stirs there, no caravan will be allowed through. We need eyes on that land."
He turned to Eliakim. "You've proven your mettle. I'm sanctioning a field team under your command. Take whoever you trust. I want a report in three weeks—or sooner, if you find the source."
Eliakim nodded, the weight of the mission settling on his shoulders. "Understood."
Greyspire's streets were still busy despite the siege's aftermath. People were rebuilding, clearing debris, lighting incense for the dead. Eliakim walked with Skyling perched at his side, her newly evolved form catching every flicker of light.
That's when he saw her—Ezra—leaning against a narrow brick wall in one of the side streets, her shoulders trembling. Her hood was drawn low, but he recognized the midnight streak in her hair and the faint shimmer of mana that clung to her like a second skin.
He approached slowly. "The Mage Tower?"
She didn't look at him, but her voice was sharp enough. "Rejected. Again."
"I'm leaving Greyspire. Emberroot Plains. It's dangerous," he said.
She glanced at him through the curtain of her hair. "And you're telling me… why?"
"Because I'm asking if you want to come. Not as a charity case. Not because of the Tower. But because I think you can make a difference—if you want to."
Her voice softened. "You're the only one who's ever… seen me. Not the danger. Not the mess. Me."
She straightened, a faint spark in her eyes. "I'll go."
They reached the forge just as Gideon was cooling his latest work—his twin axes steaming under a bucket of water. He glanced up, eyes narrowing at Ezra.
"Thought you worked alone," Gideon said.
"I work with those I trust," Eliakim replied. "Ezra's joining us."
Ezra lifted her chin. "Ezra Nightfall. Mage—sort of. Born in the town of Marshes, three miles south and four miles east of Greyspire. One mile south of Marshes lies the Blackmere Forest—dense, dark, and full of twisting wetlands. The canopy there is so thick it blots out the sun for most of the day. When the fog rolls in, you can't see ten steps ahead, and the air smells of wet earth and old secrets. That's where I learned herbalism—gathering mosses, rare blossoms, and swamp-root for potions. I can keep us alive if we're wounded, and I can poison the wrong kind of company if I have to."
Gideon gave her a single approving nod. "Useful."
Eliakim gestured toward Gideon. "You should know—his fighting style has changed. Kaelvryn reforged his twin axes into a dual-sword set—one long like a katana, the other shorter for close-quarter strikes. He's faster now, more precise. It changes how we move in a fight."
Gideon grunted. "I cut cleaner now. Less wasted motion."
Ezra turned to Eliakim. "And you?"
"My contribution's balance and adaptability. I've got demon-given skills—seven, though some take a toll on my body. My scarf—" he adjusted it slightly, the dark cloth flowing neatly over his shoulder, "—was given by Seraphine. It carries enchantments that help me focus under pressure. My weakness? Sustained brawls. If a fight drags too long, I burn out fast."
He glanced at Skyling. "She's my bonded beast—flight, flame breath, and keen vision. Now that she's evolved, she can shield us from shadow influence, but it exhausts her."
Ezra gave a small nod. "Noted. We'll watch your endurance."
Before departure, they made one last stop—a clothing and armor outfitter in the Merchant's Quarter.
The shopkeeper, a rotund man with sharp eyes, set them up with gear that matched their fighting styles:
Eliakim: reinforced leather coat layered for mobility, scarf neatly fixed in a formal hunter's knot, its trailing end secured to keep it from snagging.
Gideon: fitted combat jerkin with split skirts for leg movement, bracers reinforced to withstand blade impact.
Ezra: light travel robes sewn with hidden slots for potion vials and throwing herbs, the hood lined with waterproof weave to protect spell components.
By the time they stepped out, they looked less like survivors of a siege and more like a strike team.
At the Guild counter, Ezra filled out a fresh registration. "Rank: Copper," the clerk said after stamping the form. "You'll work under Eliakim's sanctioned expedition authority."
Gideon handed over his ID next. "Updating to match," he said.
The clerk inspected it. "Copper to Bronze, tied to Darkmoor's active expedition."
Eliakim pocketed both IDs, the bronze insignia gleaming. "Now we're officially a team."
That's when it happened.From Eliakim's satchel came a faint, metallic hum. He pulled out the Treasure Codex of Imreth—its silver cover glowing faintly. The pages turned on their own, stopping at a new, unmarked section.
Skyling's voice brushed his mind. It knows her.
A line of script shimmered into being across the page:
A new flame joins the circle. The path shifts.
Ezra stared. "It's… acknowledging me?"
"Looks like it," Eliakim said. "Seems you're officially part of this."
By midday, they departed through Greyspire's northern gate.The road to Emberroot stretched ahead—long, cracked, and lined with the withered bones of trees.
Whatever waited at its end had already reached into Greyspire once.This time, they would walk straight into its heart.