The letter appeared the next morning, folded on the tavern counter as if it had been left there by a polite breeze. Torin pushed it toward me with the tip of his cleaning rag, as if he feared it might explode.
"It came with a swift-pigeon from Vaelor. It didn't have a seal, but it had the seal of the Royal Palace itself. I think it's serious."
Vespera, who was polishing an arrow with a half-burned piece of cloth, raised an eyebrow.
"Serious like 'you saved the city, here's a reward' or serious like 'you destroyed half the city, come explain yourselves before being exiled'?"
"I hope it's the first one," I murmured, opening the envelope.
The handwriting was firm, official, but not cold. It was the royal advisor's—someone who had already seen us save the kingdom twice and break the palace roof three times.
"Adventurers,
The Council of Vaelor urgently summons your presence.
Reports have emerged of suspicious activities in the Western Lands—places where the Seventh General operated during the last war. Witnesses claim to feel 'ancient whispers' and see 'shadows that cast no light.'
We know you have... experience with this kind of threat.
Present yourselves before sunset tomorrow.
— Advisor Dain"
Liriel, who until then had been pretending to sleep with her head resting on her arm folded over the table, opened one eye.
"'Western Lands'? That's a polite way of saying 'forgotten graveyard where Zephyron built his first altar.'"
Elara closed her grimoire with a soft thump.
"But… he was sealed. We saw him disappear."
"Disappearing isn't the same as dying," I replied, tucking the letter away. "And after what we saw in Vey'thar, I don't think he was ever truly an enemy. Just a man who chose not to fight… and because of that, was erased."
Vespera stood up, stretching her arms.
"So what? We go to Vaelor, talk to the council, figure out what the ghost of the poet-general is up to, and then we go back to paying debts?"
"Basically," Liriel said, standing as well. "But this time, we're not going to destroy the palace. Just half of it."
Torin snorted.
"If you don't even step into the hall, I'll be happy."
The journey was surprisingly peaceful. No portals opened. No creatures emerged from the forest. Even the roads seemed to have been swept recently, as if the world were giving us a break. Or preparing us for something worse.
Elara walked in silence, but her fingers brushed the pages of her grimoire as if she were speaking to it. From time to time, she murmured:
"This energy… it's not corruption. It's… memory."
Vespera walked at my side, her bow on her back, but her shoulders relaxed.
"You're thinking about him, aren't you?"
"About Zephyron?"
"Yeah. You've got that face of 'did I do the right thing?'"
"Maybe," I admitted. "He didn't want to be remembered as a general. He wanted to be remembered as a poet. And we… we carry the pieces of what he once was."
Liriel, who floated a few inches above the ground—a habit she couldn't shake even in a human body—heard everything.
"Careful with that, Vespera. Remember: what looks like poetry can be a well-written trap."
"But what if it isn't?" I asked. "What if he's trying to warn us?"
She didn't answer. She only pressed the necklace at her neck, which glowed softly, as if trying to recall something no one else remembered.
Vaelor had changed.
Not drastically—the streets were still full of merchants, children still ran between the carts, and the smell of baked bread still drifted from the bakery on the corner. But there was a tension in the air. People spoke in low voices. Doors closed earlier. And, for the first time in years, the guard posts had real archers, not just bored recruits.
We were received in the palace courtyard, not the throne room. Advisor Dain awaited us beneath a white tent, maps spread across a wooden table. He was a middle-aged man with a well-kept beard, tired but alert eyes.
"You came. Thank the gods."
"Only because the reward is good," Liriel said, sitting down without being invited.
Dain wasn't offended. He gave a tired smile.
"The reward is 300 gold coins. And the forgiveness of all debts contracted with the Crown until today."
"Ah," said Vespera. "Now we're talking."
Dain pointed to one of the maps. Red marks circled a mountainous region to the west, near the ancient ruins of Orlanthe.
"In the last few weeks, seven villages have disappeared. They weren't destroyed. They were simply… emptied. No bodies. No signs of struggle. Just… absence. And in each one, we found this."
He pulled out a small glass vial. Inside, a black feather floated, wrapped in silver mist.
"It's the same feather that brought us the letter in Vey'thar," said Elara, approaching.
"Yes. And each feather bears the symbol of the five-petaled flower."
Liriel turned pale.
"He's not calling us. He's marking the path."
"For what?" I asked.
"So that someone finds him," she answered, her voice quieter than the wind. "Not to defeat him. So that someone sees him. And maybe… understands him."
The silence that followed wasn't fear. It was recognition. As if all of us, somehow, already knew this.
"So," said Vespera, looking at me, "the mission isn't to kill. It's to find."
"Yes," I replied. "And we won't do it alone."
Dain nodded, as if he had expected that answer.
"The Council has already sent messengers to the neighboring cities. Guilds, clerics, even some former soldiers who fought against him. Everyone is gathering in Orlanthe. The place where he… vanished."
"Do they know what he is?" asked Elara.
"They know he was a general. That he was betrayed. That he was erased. But no one knows what he wants now. Only that the whispers are growing. And those who heard them… did not return."
Liriel looked at the vial with the feather.
"They didn't return because he didn't want them dead. He wanted them… heard."
She stood, the necklace glowing with a stronger light, as if lit from within.
"Then we're going to Orlanthe. But we're not going there to defeat the Seventh General."
"We're going there to hear him," I said.
She stared at me. For an instant, there was no sarcasm. No jealousy. No disdain. Just a connection, as silent as the wind passing through the palace windows.
"Yes," she said. "We're going to hear him."
Vespera smiled, for the first time without irony.
"Better than paying debts, right?"
Elara, who had sat down again, held the grimoire tightly.
"But what if he doesn't want to be heard? What if he wants… to deceive us?"
No one answered. Because the question was deeper than any answer.
What do we do when the enemy we want to destroy is, in truth, the one who most reminds us of who we are?
And what if he's not a general?
What if he's just a man who forgot he could still be remembered?
Dain's letter was still in my hand. The reward was great. The debt would be forgiven. But what we were about to face had no price.
It had only one name.
Zephyron.
And he wasn't calling us to war.
He was calling us to truth.
And we, no matter how much we tried to run, had already chosen to listen.