The Aelorian escort led them deeper into the mist-veiled city, past silver bridges and crystal streams, away from the golden towers Eliakim had expected to see. The sound of falling water grew softer, replaced by the hushed calls of forest birds and the rustle of ancient leaves overhead.
Soon, the marble paths gave way to stone steps carved into moss-covered rock. Ahead, through a curtain of vines, stood a hut. Not a grand hall, not a throne room of jeweled glass — just a round thatched dwelling, its roof crowned with the sweeping horns of some long-dead beast, golden-eyed masks peering from its walls like silent sentinels.
Eliakim slowed. A hut? The Queen of Aeloria… here? His gaze swept the scene — carved totems, watching warriors in bone masks, and the faint scent of burning herbs drifting on the air. Something was wrong. This wasn't the grandeur of a court — it was a place meant to be hidden.
Captain Vaeryn stopped at the foot of the steps."You will wait here," he said curtly.
As Caleb moved ahead, Eliakim felt the Codex of Imreth — secured at his side — pulse faintly, like a heartbeat in tune with the forest. The script along its cover shimmered, and a whisper seemed to bloom in his ears. The rushing syllables of the elven tongue, which had moments ago been indecipherable, suddenly became clear — every word crisp as his own native speech.
He glanced at Caleb, who strode forward unaware, speaking with the same ease as before. Eliakim's lips twitched into a small, private smile. Thank you, Umbravice, he thought, brushing his fingers over the cold metal of the bracelet hidden beneath his sleeve.
The queen emerged from the hut. Her hair was pale as birch bark, braided with strands of silver thread. A mantle of woven emerald leaves draped her shoulders, and though her crown was nothing more than twisted rivergold wire, her presence made the masked guards straighten like drawn arrows.
She stepped close to Caleb, speaking low.
Queen Elenwë:"It has been long, so very long, since you last set foot in our lands… and under such shadows. You know the truth, then — the Dark Elf warlord rules from the Spire of Thorns, and his reach has grown. Entire river-wards now bow to him. We cannot hold the upper bridges much longer."
Caleb's voice carried a careful steadiness.
Caleb:"Then we will strike him before his hold tightens. My companions—"
The queen cut him off with a small, almost pitying shake of her head.
Queen Elenwë:"Your companions will not survive a strike into the Spire. And neither will you… unless you reclaim the name you cast aside."
A hush hung in the air.
Caleb's jaw tightened, his answer measured.
Caleb:"That name is dead."
From his place below, Eliakim kept his expression neutral, as if lost in thought. But inside, the smile returned — sharper this time. He had heard every word, and now the flickering threads of suspicion about Caleb began to weave into a pattern.
Above, the queen's voice dropped even lower, but to Eliakim's tuned ears it was as if she stood beside him.
Queen Elenwë:"You may deny it to them, but not to me. The fate of Aeloria still coils around you, whether you wish it or not."
Caleb said nothing. His silence spoke more than words.
Eliakim looked toward the hut once more, the shadows behind its mask-eyed walls hiding more than royal counsel. And in that moment, he knew — whatever truth Caleb carried, it was about to drag them both deeper into Aeloria's storm.