The wheelbarrow scraped against stone as John dragged it behind him. The wheel had given out somewhere back in the caves, and now the broken axle scraped loudly against the stone floor as he dragged it along.

  "Mmmph."

  "Almost there," John said, not slowing down.

  The rat sat on his shoulder, crystal held high, lighting the way back through dusty rooms and past John's own footprints. They reached the passage where he'd blocked the grate, except now there was a wall of leaves covering it.

  John stopped, letting the wheelbarrow settle with a thud.

  The leaf-wall shifted, rustled, and resolved into what it actually was. Dozens of rats, packed shoulder to shoulder, completely blocking the passage.

  The rat on John's shoulder stood up tall and let out a loud, victorious squeak, raising its staff high.

  The rats erupted in chittering. Excited, celebratory sounds that echoed through the passage. They shifted and parted, creating a clear path through their numbers.

  John bent down and grabbed Cedric by the rope around his chest, hauling him upright. "Come on."

  "Mmph."

  "Walk or get dragged. Pick one."

  He pushed Cedric forward between the bars. The rats lined the passage on both sides now, leaves rustling as John passed with his prisoner in tow. Their excited chittering echoed off the walls, and a few of the bolder ones threw tiny pebbles at Cedric as he shuffled past.

  The passage opened into the familiar tunnel that led to the cathedral. Golden light spilled from ahead. The tree's glow was warm and welcoming even from this distance.

  Cedric went rigid without warning. His whole body locked up mid-step, one foot still raised, frozen in place like a statue caught between movements.

  John blinked at the sudden change and gave the boy's shoulder a tentative poke. He walked around to face Cedric and snapped his fingers next to the boy's ear. Nothing. He tried the other ear, snapping louder this time.

  Still completely frozen.

  "Welcome back."

  John jumped hard, stumbling backward and nearly tripping over his own feet. The rat squeaked in alarm and dug its claws into his shoulder for balance, the tiny points digging into his shirt.

  The old elf stood before him. His ancient eyes studied the blindfolded boy with an expression of weariness.

  "Can you please stop doing that."

  "This makes things difficult," the elf said.

  John let out a slow breath, his heart rate gradually settling. "You know him?"

  The elf nodded slowly.

  John looked at the frozen boy, then back at the elf, trying to read his expression. "He was the necromancer. Has the class and everything."

  "For now," the elf said.

  Right.

  John was quiet for a moment, thinking through what he'd seen in the chamber. "I'm not sure how much of it was the crown and how much was him."

  "Crown?" The elf's tone shifted, curious.

  John pulled the broken halves from his storage ring. "One of the zombies brought it to him. He was wearing it when—"

  The elf's hand shot out suddenly, not to grab the pieces, but in a warding gesture. He stepped back quickly, his usual composed demeanor cracking as his face drained of what little color it had.

  John blinked at the reaction but held the pieces up. "It's broken. I hit it off his head and—"

  "Stop touching it!" the elf hissed, his usual calm completely gone.

  The elf took another step back, putting more distance between himself and John's outstretched hands. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if fighting the urge to cast something.

  John shoved both halves back into his storage ring. "Alright, alright. It's gone."

  The elf stared at him for a long moment. His ancient eyes searched John's face with unsettling intensity, looking for something.

  "Did you not you feel it?" the elf asked quietly. "The whispers? The urge to delve into dark magics?"

  John shrugged. "Magic's lame. I'd rather just hit things with a sword."

  The elf continued staring, trying to determine whether John was serious or not. Finally, after what felt like a full minute, he turned toward the passage leading deeper into the cathedral. "Come. There is much to discuss, and the boy will remain frozen until I release him."

  "Alright then."

  They walked down the corridor together, John's footsteps echoed softly on the ancient stone while the elf's made no sound at all. The golden light was brighter, and warmer somehow than it had been before, as if the tree itself was healthier.

  There were elves here now.

  Two knelt by the massive roots of the tree, their hands pressed flat against the bark. Soft light pulsed rhythmically between their palms and the wood, like a heartbeat. Another elf stood balanced on a higher root, carefully clearing away dead growth with gentle, precise movements, treating each piece like something sacred.

  Near the entrance, an elf swept away the accumulated dust with slow, deliberate strokes, a beaming smile on her face as she worked. Two rats perched on her shoulders like tiny supervisors, watching the work with obvious approval.

  Further into the chamber, dozens of rats had gathered around what could only be described as a banquet spread across the floor. Plates of eggs, dried fruits, grains, and seeds covered every available surface. An elf knelt nearby, carefully arranging more food with a gentle smile on her face. The rats ate with obvious delight, squeaking happily to each other between bites.

  The rat on John's shoulder chittered excitedly at the sight and leaped down without warning, scurrying across the floor to join the feast with its companions.

  But what really drew John's eye was the heartwood sapling.

  It stood in a new, much bigger pot that looked like it had been crafted specifically for it. The sapling was visibly larger than before, its trunk noticeably thicker, its branches fuller and more numerous. The bark glowed with the same golden light as the great tree, pulsing gently in time with the work being done at the roots. Delicate leaves had unfurled along every branch, each one catching the light and seeming to glow from within.

  The old elf beside him followed his gaze.

  He was silent for a long moment, just watching the gentle glow. Then he asked quietly, "May I ask how you knew of her?"

  John considered his answer carefully, weighing what to say. "I know things."

  "You could not have simply stumbled across her. Not like Erik the Red."

  "You're old for an elf, right?"

  "You would say so."

  "If I told you the Ward Wall was failing, what would you do?"

  The elf went very still beside him. When he spoke, his voice was carefully controlled. "Prepare."

  "I have no proof."

  The elf studied him for a long moment, those ancient eyes searching John's face for any sign of deception or madness or foolishness. Whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him, or at least convince him that John believed what he was saying.

  He nodded.

  "Your awareness is good for your level," the elf said, changing the subject abruptly.

  John blinked at the sudden shift in topic. "Uh, thanks?"

  "You perceive yourself strangely. Like you're used to watching from outside your own body." The elf began to circle him slowly, studying him from different angles. "Most people live entirely within themselves. You don't."

  John thought about all the hours watching himself fight on a screen, planning builds, optimizing movements. "Is that bad?"

  "It's undeveloped." The elf stopped in front of him. "Close your eyes."

  John did.

  "Now. Without opening them, tell me where I am."

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  John listened. Nothing. No footsteps, no breathing. "I have no idea."

  "Open them."

  The elf was gone. John started to turn his head, scanning the chamber.

  "Your awareness extends outward," the elf said from directly behind him, his breath warm against John's neck.

  "But you rely too heavily on sight. We will change that."

  John thought about one of the requirements for the Mage Killer class. Spatial perception without relying on vision. He hadn't expected to start working on it this early, hadn't even planned to pursue it until he was much higher level.

  Apparently the elf had other ideas.

  Nice.

  Several hours later, John stumbled out of the sewer grate and into the late afternoon light, one hand gripping Cedric's rope while the other rubbed at his temples.

  His eyes felt like they'd been scrubbed with sand and his head throbbed with a dull ache. The elf's "awareness training" had stretched his brain in directions it wasn't used to going, leaving his brain feeling like mush.

  "I want to go home," Cedric mumbled for the third time since being unfrozen. The blindfold was gone now, tucked into John's pocket, but his eyes were still glassy and unfocused as he stared at nothing.

  "I don’t," John muttered.

  The Valebrant carriage waited exactly where they'd left it earlier, looking completely undisturbed. The driver still sat in the front, quietly reading a book.

  The old elf walked out from behind the carriage with his usual impossible silence. Because of course he did. Of course he'd gotten here despite John climbing out of the sewer without him.

  John barely reacted.

  "You're coming?" John asked.

  "They will have questions," the elf said. "And you are..."

  "Still just a peasant." John shoved Cedric toward the carriage door. "I get it."

  The elf's lips twitched. Almost a smile. "For now."

  John climbed into the carriage, pulling Cedric in after him with perhaps more force than necessary, and the elf followed with his usual impossible grace, settling onto the opposite bench.

  "The Ashford manor," the elf said to the driver.

  The carriage lurched into motion immediately.

  The carriage ride was short. Too short for John to properly process what he was about to walk into. The Ashford manor loomed into view as they turned down a tree-lined drive that seemed designed to intimidate visitors.

  It was massive. Three stories of pale stone, with towers at each corner reaching toward the sky. Manicured gardens stretched out on either side of the drive, perfectly maintained hedges forming complex geometric patterns that probably required a small army of gardeners. Fountains. Marble statues. The whole aristocratic package on full display.

  The carriage had barely stopped moving before the manor's front doors burst open with a bang.

  A woman in expensive robes came rushing down the steps, her jewelry catching the light as she moved. She was tall, elegant, with the same sharp features as her son.

  "Cedric!" She ran to the carriage, nearly tripping on her robes. "My baby! Oh thank the gods, you're safe!"

  Cedric climbed down slowly, mechanically. His mother grabbed him immediately, pulling him into a crushing embrace.

  "Mother," he said quietly. Just the one word, barely audible.

  "You're safe now, you're home." She pulled back just enough to cup his face in both hands, her eyes frantically examining every inch of him. "Let me look at you. Are you hurt? Where have you been? We've been searching everywhere—"

  Her eyes widened as she really looked at him for the first time. At the hollow expression on his face, the way his eyes didn't quite focus on anything, certainly not on her.

  "Cedric?" She shook him gently. "Cedric, darling, what's wrong?"

  "Tired," he mumbled.

  Lady Ashford's hands moved to cup his face more gently, her thumbs brushing his cheeks as if trying to wake him from a dream. "Cedric, darling, what happened? Tell mother what happened."

  Cedric's unfocused eyes finally seemed to see her, just for a moment. "He ruined everything."

  Lady Ashford's head snapped toward John and the elf, still standing by the carriage. Her relief twisted instantly into something uglier. "What did you do to him?"

  "We found him in the undercity," John said. "Practicing necromancy."

  "That's a lie!" Her voice rose to a shriek. "My Cedric would never— You did something! You hurt him! You—"

  John pulled the broken crown halves from his storage ring and held them up. "He was wearing this."

  Lady Ashford's words died in her throat. Her eyes locked onto the pieces immediately, and something hungry flickered across her face. She released Cedric, taking a step toward John with her hand already reaching out.

  "Give that to me," she said, her voice sharp and commanding. "Right now. Give it here!"

  John raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

  "Because I'm telling you to!" She reached for it, fingers grasping. "That's mine! Hand it over!"

  John pulled it back and shoved both halves into his storage ring.

  Lady Ashford's hand hung in the air for a moment, still reaching. Then slowly, very slowly, her arm dropped to her side.

  The hunger in her expression faded, replaced by something worse.

  Understanding.

  She looked at the empty space where the crown had been, then at her son's vacant stare.

  Her face went pale. "How long was he wearing it?"

  "Long enough," the elf said quietly.

  Lady Ashford swayed slightly on her feet. Then her expression changed in an instant, like a mask being lowered into place. The fear vanished completely, replaced by cold calculation.

  "Guards!" Her voice rang out sharp and clear.

  Heavy footsteps approached from inside the manor. Four guards in House Ashford livery appeared at the top of the steps, hands on sword hilts.

  "Arrest these men," Lady Ashford said, pointing at John and the elf. "They've assaulted my son. Kidnapped him. Used some kind of—"

  "Peace," the elf said quietly.

  The guards froze.

  Lady Ashford's mouth snapped shut mid-sentence.

  "You might want to look at the livery on that carriage," the elf said, gesturing behind him with one hand. The Valebrant colors were clearly visible—blue and silver gleaming in the sunlight.

  Lady Ashford's jaw clenched tight. Her eyes flicked to the carriage, lingered on the unmistakable noble colors, then moved back to the elf and John. Recognition played across her features as she processed what those colors meant, what they represented.

  Weighing her options.

  Finally, she spoke. "I think you should leave."

  "A wise choice," the elf said with a slight nod.

  John followed him back to the carriage without a word. More guards had arrived, but didn't move to stop them, though their hands stayed on their weapons until the carriage door closed.

  As the carriage pulled away, John glanced back at the manor. "She seems nice."

  No response.

  John looked at the opposite bench.

  Empty.

  "Of course," John muttered to the empty space. "Sneaky bastard."

  The carriage dropped John at the Valebrant mansion just as the sun was beginning to set properly, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. His stomach growled as he climbed the steps, reminding him that he'd eaten nothing but a sandwich shared with rats many hours ago.

  Inside, the manor felt different. Quieter. The steward directed him to a smaller room off the main hall, one of the side chambers that had been hastily cleared and converted into a proper dining space.

  Sylbera's chaotic research was apparently still covering many of the other rooms, making this the only place left suitable for formal meals.

  John entered to find Erin already seated at the table, a book open beside her plate. She looked up as he entered, marking her place with one finger.

  "John. I was beginning to wonder if you'd make it back for dinner."

  "Sorry I'm late." John took the seat across from her, sinking into it gratefully. A servant appeared almost immediately with food.

  It was good. Better than good, actually. Roasted chicken with herbs, vegetables covered in butter, fresh bread that was still warm and soft inside. John ate slowly, savoring every bite. After two days of barely keeping anything down, real food tasted incredible.

  Erin set down her fork and studied him across the table. "You look much better. Seems like resting did you good."

  John swallowed his bite. "That was taking too long so I got a tree to heal me and hunted down a necromancer."

  Erin blinked. "What?"

  "Necromancer. Down in the old prison in the undercity." He reached for his cup, taking a drink. "Some noble kid named Cedric."

  "Cedric..." Erin's eyes went wide. "Ashford?"

  "That's the one."

  "Lord Cedric Ashford?" She leaned forward. "The Magistrate's son?"

  "Yep." John took another drink. "Found him stitching corpses together in an old execution pit."

  Erin stared at him. "What did you do with him?"

  "Sent him home." John cut another piece of chicken. "His mom's a real piece of work."

  Erin closed her eyes briefly. "Leon is currently working with Magistrate Ashford on the orphanage ring you uncovered."

  John paused mid-bite, considering the implications. "Ah. Good thing I was so nice then."

  Erin rubbed her temples slowly.

  They ate in silence for a moment.

  John finished his chicken and set his fork down. "Also found the elves two Heartwood trees."

  Erin's just stared at him, eyes going impossibly wide.

  "The elves," John continued, "Near the prison. There was a dying Heartwood tree. It had a wisp baby with nowhere to go. Now it's growing in a new sapling."

  Erin's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound came out.

  "It was in a pot," John added helpfully.

  Still nothing. Erin just sat there, frozen, staring at him like he'd grown a second head.

  John stood up, pushing his chair back. "Neat. Anyway, I'm off to bed. See you tomorrow."

  He was halfway to the door when Erin finally found her voice.

  "John."

  He paused and looked back.

  She was still sitting there, looking stunned. "You can't just... you can't say things like that and walk away."

  "Why not?"

  "That's—" Erin closed her eyes and let her head drop forward until her forehead hit the table with a dull thunk. "Go to bed, John."

  "Night, Erin."

  John smiled as he climbed the stairs.

  His room was dark and quiet when he entered. He didn't bother with a lamp, just stripped off his clothes and collapsed onto the bed. The sheets were cool against his skin, the mattress soft.

  He was almost asleep when he felt a weight settle on his hips.