“So… what do you say we should do?”

  I needed more time to think. I studied her face, the controlled fury, the pain at her people's suffering, the weight of responsibility she carried despite having no throne to back it up, and yet kind enough to show me respect. Then I looked at Ragna, who was practically vibrating with the need to help those farmers. At Borric, whose merchant's soul was offended by such cruel transactions.

  "Princess," I said finally, keeping my tone firm.

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” I started. "Since the first time we met, you haven't been forcing me into anything. That’s true. There had always been a choice. The choice of whether to accept or reject the guild quest, or the choice of leaving you after Allister’s death. I made those choices myself. My tribe is on a pilgrimage, and our goal is to make a good name for ourselves. I have a personal goal, too, but if I don't make good choices when needed, I don't think any of that matters.” I went quiet for a moment. “But the reason I didn’t want to take the risk helping these villagers is that [Dark Mages] are dangerous, and as you said, what if the enemy is someone out of our league? I was prioritizing your safety, not choosing to willingly abandon these villagers. That is the reason for my words.”

  "...So the answer is no, then?" Her shoulders sagged slightly.

  “I understand that single-mindedly running after my personal goal might not bear any fruit, since I’m following a ghost’s trail. So it’s ideal to respect my tribe’s goal for now. What kind of name would I make for my tribe if I walked away from children being sacrificed?” I said, and saw hope flicker behind her eyes.

  “That’s the Thorvyn I know!” Ragna cheered, patting my shoulder. Borric smiled, and I saw the Princess stare at me with an odd expression.

  Turning back toward where the farmers waited, I hefted my crystallized ax. The strap of my shoulderplate creaked when I shifted. “Don’t think too much about this, Princess. Your logic was very sound. It’d not be wise to leave an enemy here, letting him harvest power to grow stronger.”

  “Thorvyn,” Isolde called me from behind. “Thank you.”

  I had a feeling she’d become a great Queen. Since I’d gotten so entangled in this anyway, I wanted to give my best to make sure I see that happen.

  ****

  Isolde Point of View

  The sun hung low on the horizon, its golden light doing nothing to soften the desperation etched into the village elder's face. Isolde was not queen yet, but these were still her people. It hurt her to see them like this.

  She measured their time in heartbeats. Each beat brought them closer to moonrise, to children forced to face horrors no subject of hers should ever know.

  Soon, Millhaven sprawled before them, a village that should have been prosperous with its river access and fertile lands. Yet the fields withered despite adequate water, crops stunted and discolored. Something was draining the life from this place, something unnatural.

  Isolde's gaze swept across hollow-eyed villagers who scurried indoors at their approach. She'd been trained since childhood to assess a territory's health with a single glance. What she saw chilled her more than any winter wind.

  "The ritual happens at moonrise," the elder whispered, glancing nervously at shadows that seemed to stretch toward them like grasping fingers. "The mage takes them to different locations each time. Says it has to do with the moon's position or some such. We're never told where until it's time."

  "How many guards?" Thorvyn asked, his voice low.

  "More than before. Strange ones that don't eat or sleep." The elder's voice trembled. "They appeared after the last... offering failed."

  Isolde's stomach clenched. A ruler's first duty was to protect. While her brother claimed the throne, these were still her people suffering under his negligence… or worse, his complicity if she were to trust the villagers’ words.

  "Time is our enemy, my friends," she said, calculating variables as she'd been taught. "We have perhaps two hours before moonrise. We need to locate the children and this mage before then."

  Her team didn’t reject the proposal. The village square opened before them, larger than expected with multiple paths branching outward. Ancient stone buildings huddled around a dried-up fountain, its basin cracked and empty. Several structures could serve as ritual sites. The old mill, a stone circle on the eastern hill, the village church with its spire now draped in black cloth.

  "Where did previous rituals occur?" Isolde asked, scanning for tactical advantages.

  The elder shook his head. "Like I said, different places each time. The old quarry once, the abandoned granary another. The church most recently, but..." His voice dropped lower. "He says the moon speaks to him, tells him where the blood will be sweetest."

  Borric made a noise of disgust. Ragna fingered her club with barely restrained fury. But it was Thorvyn's calculating gaze that mirrored Isolde's own thoughts. This was not the work of a simple village madman.

  Movement caught her attention, figures patrolling with unnaturally rigid gaits, their armor dulled but unmistakable in design. Imperial Guard armor, modified with strange sigils. But what made her breath catch was the glimpse of bone where a helmet sat askew.

  "No way… Skeleton Guards," she whispered, recognizing the necromantic construct from forbidden texts at Waybound. "This is an important detail you missed, mister..."

  "Arlen," the elder supplied. "And we never get close enough to see. They kill anyone who approaches after sundown."

  "Necromancy requires significant power," Isolde said, mind racing through implications. "Your mage is no simple village practitioner."

  "The church is the obvious ritual site unless the bullshit about moon positioning is true," Thorvyn observed, "but that makes it potentially a trap."

  Isolde nodded, appreciating his tactical thinking. "We need to split up. Time works against us. We must locate the children before moonrise."

  She made her decision with the swift clarity that had earned her professors' praise at Waybound. "Thorvyn and I will investigate the church. Ragna, your tracking skills might help locate the children. Take Borric and search the village perimeter."

  "You sure about that, Princess?" Ragna asked, her red hair catching the dying sunlight like spilled blood. "Might be safer if we stay together."

  "There are at least three children at stake," Isolde replied. "What if the ritual is different for each of them? We can't risk missing them because we're all looking in the wrong place."

  Thorvyn nodded his approval of her logic. "Meet back here in one hour regardless of what we find. If you're in trouble–"

  "I'll make it very obvious," Ragna promised with a feral grin. "Loud noises, big fire, screaming skeletons. You know, those stuff."

  Despite the grim circumstances, Isolde found herself smiling. These islanders had a directness that was refreshing after years of court politics. Were barbarians truly as uncivilized as people said? Maybe they were just free.

  "Take care," Borric cautioned, his merchant's eyes already analyzing possible hiding places. "Princess, your safety–"

  "Is less important than those children," she finished firmly. She didn’t agree one bit, but she had to say it to reassure Borric. "I'll be fine with Thorvyn."

  They parted ways as shadows lengthened across the village. Isolde fell into step beside Thorvyn, acutely aware of his towering presence. What would her etiquette tutors say about a princess walking alongside a barbarian warrior? They'd have fits of apoplexy. Yet there was no one she'd rather have guarding her flank.

  "Your brother has much to answer for," Thorvyn said quietly as they approached the church.

  Isolde's jaw tightened. "If he's truly behind this, he's committed crimes beyond treason. The kingdom has laws against blood magic dating back to the Crimson Century."

  "The what?"

  "Three hundred years ago, a drought worse than this one plagued Thalassaria. Later, a cult rose promising salvation through blood sacrifice. Thousands died before it was stopped." Her voice dropped lower. "The records claim the soil itself was tainted for decades after."

  “A Cult? The Divine Cult?”

  She blinked, “No? That’s heresy. It’s a different cult. One thing you’d soon realize in this larger world, Thorvyn, is that there are a few too many cults around here.”

  The church loomed before them, its once-white stones now stained with something dark that ran like tears from the windows. The holy symbol of Solarus, God of Light, had been inverted on the door, now representing a dark aspect that had been theorized by scholars of the past, Noctis the Devourer.

  "I studied this at Waybound," Isolde murmured. "Inverting sacred symbols to channel reversed energies. This is old magic, Thorvyn. Dangerous."

  Zerina would have recognized it faster. Borric probably didn’t know, but his daughter had always been sharper with combat applications, while Isolde leaned toward theory. They used to study late into the night in Zerina's room, cross-legged on the floor with scrolls spread between them, arguing about sigil structure until one of them fell asleep on the other's shoulder. Isolde missed those nights more than she'd expected to… for more reasons than one.

  The barbarian studied the door with narrowed eyes. "Can you sense any wards?"

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  Isolde closed her eyes, extending her magical awareness. Years at Waybound had taught her to feel magical currents, to taste spellwork on the air. "Nothing immediate," she said after a moment. "But there's... wrongness. Like a scream held in the throat."

  "Poetic," Thorvyn commented dryly. "Does that mean it's safe to enter?"

  She gave him a wry smile. "As safe as walking into a corrupted church filled with necromantic energy can be. Yes."

  "So, the usual day for us." He pushed the door open, axe ready.

  The interior struck Isolde with nearly a physical force. The stench of decay mingled with sweet incense, creating a nauseating perfume that clung to her nostrils. Pews had been pushed against walls, the central space cleared for a large stone altar that didn't belong. Dark stains marred its surface.

  But what captured her attention were the symbols carved into the floor. An intricate pattern that made her eyes hurt to follow. It made her frown.

  "I know these marks," she whispered, crouching for a closer look. "They're from the Book of Hollow Earth, a text banned even within Waybound's restricted sections."

  "Yet you recognize them," Thorvyn observed, keeping watch by the door.

  Isolde flushed slightly. "I had... special access. Mirror Sovereigns are expected to understand dark reflections as well as light."

  "What do they mean?"

  "I think… I think they're channeling runes, designed to draw energy from one place and funnel it elsewhere." Her finger traced the air above a particularly complex sigil. "This one means 'to feed the land'... but it's twisted. It's not feeding, it's draining."

  "Your brother is draining his own kingdom?" Thorvyn's tone held disbelief.

  "Perhaps he doesn't understand what's happening," she said, though her voice lacked conviction. "Kaelan was always impatient with magical theory."

  They moved deeper into the church, passing desecrated shrines and upturned baptismal fonts. At the back, where the priest's chambers would be, they found a study transformed into something altogether different.

  Maps covered one wall. They were detailed renderings of Thalassaria with strange markings dotting the countryside. Red pins marked villages, forming a pattern Isolde struggled to comprehend. A desk overflowed with correspondence, wax seals broken but still recognizable.

  Her heart stopped when she recognized her brother's insignia. It was similar to her father’s own, but subtly different. A Lion and Spear of House Thalasson, but modified with the personal mark Kaelan had chosen: a crown piercing the sun.

  “Thorvyn, look at this,” she whispered, hands trembling as she lifted a folded parchment. The wax seal had been broken, but the impression remained. A stylized sun partially eclipsed, a subtle variation on the royal Thalasson crest that few would recognize.

  “The letter is written in formal court cipher. It's a method of coded writing taught only to royal family members and their most trusted advisors,” Isolde's eyes narrowed as she decoded the careful phrases.

  To our faithful Servitor of the Concord, Vorn,

  The renewal project advances as scheduled. Millhaven's results confirm our theories. Proceed with implementation at the marked locations (see accompanying map). Our eastern friends express satisfaction but require broader evidence before full commitment to our mutual arrangement.

  Natural challenges provide perfect cover. Should any setbacks occur, ensure they appear as unfortunate consequences of the drought. The essence-gathering must continue until marked improvement is documented across all test sites.

  Our eastern friends will arrive under the pretense of offering aid. Ensure their journey remains unimpeded.

  Upon completion, your service will be rewarded with the northern administrative position we discussed.

  Until dawn's triumph,

  Solar Crown

  Beneath these words were additional notations in another hand. Likely the magister's own notes with crude calculations for ritual timing and required 'materials' for each village.

  Isolde's face had gone ashen as the implications became clear.

  She could see that he felt somewhat lost. “What does the letter mean really, Princess?”

  “This is royal correspondence,” she said, voice barely audible. “The ‘eastern friends’ are Erebian nobles. This cipher... the signature... it's Kaelan's work, there's no doubt. And these notes…” she traced her finger over a particularly disturbing calculation. “They're determining how many people to sacrifice at each site.”

  “....”

  “This is crazy.” Isolde's hands shook so violently that the parchment rattled. "He's... Kaelan is deliberately doing these rituals, trying to flourish the land. If he succeeds, he wants to reach an agreement with Erebia under the guise of helping their drought." Her voice sounded distant to her own ears. "But in the process… he’s killing poor innocents."

  Thorvyn took the letter, his frown deepening as he read. "Forgive me, Princess, but your brother's not a good man."

  "He was once," she whispered, memories surfacing of a younger Kaelan teaching her to ride, laughing when she fell and helping her back up. "Something changed when he visited Erebia five years ago. He returned... colder. More ambitious."

  "People rarely change completely," Thorvyn said, examining other documents. "More likely the seed was always there, waiting for the right soil."

  Isolde stared at him, struck by the unexpected wisdom in his words. "You're full of surprises, Thorvyn Valteria."

  "So I've been told." He continued methodically examining the space, missing nothing, not the scratch marks of struggling victims on the floor, not the careful placement of ritual objects, not the strange discoloration of wood near certain artifacts.

  There was something reassuring about his presence. Not just his strength, but his mind. He didn't think like her courtiers with their circular logic and political calculations. He saw patterns she missed, connections her royal education hadn't prepared her for. She knew not all Barbarians were like this – no offence to Ragna, she loved that girl – why was he so different?

  "I think I get it now. I was wondering where I’d seen this before,” he tapped the large map with a finger. “The villages marked on the map form the Thalassian Crown constellation.”

  Isolde blinked, returning to the map. "What? That's–" She traced the pattern, realization dawning. "You're right. But how did you recognize that? It's a constellation only visible from our southern hemisphere."

  "Our tribe's shaman has a collection of constellation photos. Pictures are close to none in our tribe, but during his younger days in his time in the larger world, he’d taken a few and stored them securely. I've spent my share of nights reading those stars," he replied, then pointed to a particular marking on the desk. "This symbol here… it's repeated on specific points of the map. The same points where your crown jewel would sit on an actual crown, I’m assuming?"

  Her breath caught. He was right again. I should stop being surprised when he says intelligent things, Isolde thought to herself. My tutors would be mortified at my prejudice… assuming they survived the shock of seeing me hiding in a cave with barbarians in the first place.

  She looked at him, her expression a mixture of surprise and respect. "You know," she said quietly, "in Waybound we had an entire semester on strategic cartography, and you just summarized it in a single observation."

  Thorvyn shrugged, his focus still on the map. "When you're hunting something that can eat you, you learn to see the whole forest, not just the trees."

  "The royal court operates on a similar principle, actually," she replied with a small, wry smile. Then she grew serious and added, "Yes. These are geomancy points. Places where ley lines intersect. Drawing power from them could..." Her mind raced ahead, magical theory clicking into terrible clarity. "They're creating a massive ritual circle with the entire kingdom as the components."

  This wasn’t Kaelan’s plan, according to the letter.

  From the way Thorvyn exchanged glances with her, he too had realized that fact. There was a terrible gap between Kaelan’s and this mage’s evil. They had different goals. Her brother was being tricked into something far worse than sacrificing villagers.

  "I already have a guess, but… to what end do you think this goes?" Thorvyn asked.

  "I can’t say exactly, but–" She froze as footsteps echoed outside. Heavy and methodical. Dammit, they must be guards. We spent too much time here. Where could she hide?! It was too late as the door was pushed open.

  Thorvyn moved with startling speed, yanking her behind a tall cabinet as the door creaked open. His hand covered her mouth, his body shielding hers completely from view. Isolde's heart hammered against her ribs, her face suddenly warm despite the danger.

  “Ugh, dammit,” he muttered under his breath. “This was definitely not how I imagined my first close encounter with royalty would go. In romance novels, there's usually less mortal danger and more meaningful eye contact.”

  H-he knows romance novels? What the heck…

  Pressed against him, she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, so much calmer than her own. His chest was solid muscle, radiating heat that somehow made her feel safer despite their precarious position. She'd never been this close to anyone outside of formal dances, certainly never close enough to notice how someone else's body felt against hers.

  Away from them, the guard moved with unnatural stiffness, skull visible beneath a half-helmet. It surveyed the room with empty eye sockets, then moved to adjust something on the altar. A small pouch that leaked dark powder onto the stone.

  When it finally left, Thorvyn released her, stepping back with a mumbled apology. "They're still patrolling. We should hurry."

  Isolde nodded, composing herself. "Of course." She moved to examine what the guard had left, careful not to touch it. "This is... soil. But wrong somehow."

  Through a crack in the floorboards, she noticed more of the same substance. Kneeling, she discovered jars beneath the church. Dozens of them, with each of them labeled with village names. All contained soil in varying states of discoloration.

  "They're testing something," she whispered. "Watching how the land reacts to whatever ritual they're performing."

  "Princess." Thorvyn's voice drew her attention to another discovery. A chest of scrolls, each bearing the seal of neighboring kingdoms. Diplomatic correspondence, military assessments, trade agreements. All intercepted. "Your brother is isolating Thalassaria. Cutting off potential allies."

  Isolde reached for one of the scrolls, her fingers tracing the wax seal. Can this get any worse? The twin serpents of Velandria. The iron fortress of Calydria. The jackals at their borders. They were the vultures that circled Thalassaria, yet they were also the only counterweight to Erebian dominance. Kingdom politics were complicated like that.

  Once she sat on the throne with the crown and its jewel, their greed was a weapon she might have used, a poisoned bargain to play against her brother's own. But Kaelan was blinding them, ensuring they remained ignorant of his dealings, preventing them from making a preemptive move or offering a rival deal. He was clearing the board, ensuring that when he finally played his hand, only one empire would be left to answer.

  Usually, that would be a good thing. After all, it could be said that those two kingdoms were Thalassaria’s enemies, while Erebia was its ally. But knowing the weird situation in Erebia, isolation was a very, very bad option. Kingdom politics shouldn’t be this rash.

  A chill ran down her spine. "This is worse than I feared. He's not just seizing power, he's dismantling the entire kingdom from within. If I don’t regain the throne fast, the situation might collapse the entire nation."

  The church door suddenly burst open, startling them both. Borric stumbled in, face flushed and breathing hard.

  "Princess! We found them! T-the children! They're in a cave system beneath the village square." His voice dropped lower. "But Ragna... she's drawing their attention. The whole garrison is converging on the old quarry!"

  Thorvyn's face hardened. "That fool..." he muttered, already moving.

  "It’s not her fault! We were caught and one of us had to return to let you guys know. I tried to stop her so that we could both return but…" Borric continued frantically. "She said she'd thin their numbers, create an opening for us to reach the children."

  Thorvyn relaxed a little, but he still looked worried. "Ragna acting as a distraction...?" he shook his head. "That's not a plan, that's a death wish."

  At the same time, something clicked in Isolde’s head. She clutched the jar of dead soil, pieces falling into a terrible place. This hadn't been a trap for them specifically, it was a trap for her entire kingdom, sprung slowly over months.

  She stood, royal determination hardening her resolve. "I must thank Ragna for her bravery. These children will not die tonight. Not while I draw breath. Let’s go."

  Meeting Thorvyn's eyes, she saw matching determination there. Whatever dark purpose her brother had been deceived into serving, whatever force threatened her land. They would learn what it meant to face a daughter of House Thalasson.

  It was time to show this 'magister' the error of crossing a princess, and a student of Waybound.

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