Speak, Outsider

The leader’s right-hand man, Lykos, shot Rokuro a sideways glance.

Rokuro chose to stay silent about the old couple in Crystalor. For now.

Lykos turned to Nero. “Rumors of you dragging the Lock of prophecy and his Key all the way to Emberhold precede your arrival.”

“We talked about it in the council, didn’t we?” Nero shrugged. “That the Lock could be a useful ally?”

“Could be and will be are two different things. When will you stop being so impulsive?”

“So I should’ve let Ava do what she wants with them?” Nero said dryly.

Lykos’s eyes flicked to Rokuro and Kagi. “Just because you appear in history books doesn’t mean I trust you.” The air crackled. Then he eased. “But I’ll hear you out. Move along.”

He turned and climbed the root-wrapped stairs into the great tree. Rokuro hesitated—then nodded to Kagi and followed.

Nero led them inside the largest tree Rokuro had ever seen—its insides carved into chambers and walkways. Vines hung like curtains, and glowing markings pulsed faintly in the walls, lighting the path.

They rounded a bend—and nearly walked into a flying scroll.

“GAAAH—!”

Parchment exploded everywhere. A young woman in a green robe faceplanted into a pile of diagrams, white hair messily knotted atop her head.

“Oh COME ON,” she groaned, scrambling to gather papers. “I just restructured the elemental alignment charts—!”

“Selka,” Lykos said, looking down at her.

She raised her gaze, landing on Rokuro and Kagi.

“Oh, guests? Oops.” Selka smiled wryly and smoothed out her robes as she rose, “And uncoloured to boot?”

“Uncoloured?” Rokuro echoed.

“Selka these are—“

“Actually one uncoloured and a… what are you?”

Before Nero could explain, Selka stepped up to Kagi inspecting her like a specimen in a museum.

Kagi narrowed her eyes, “Stop. This is uncomfortable.”

“Aha! You’re an otherworldly being are you not?! Pointed ears, facial marks! And you must be…” Selka pointed to Rokuro. Her enthusiasm dropped.

“I don’t sense a drop of magic from you…”

“Well, sorry. From where I’m from last I noticed magic wasn’t a thing.” Rokuro clicked his tongue.

“They are the Lock and his Key, Selka, cease your theatrics.” Lykos snapped.

“Oh!” Selka gasped, “That’s why the magic around you doesn’t feel like Aether! And why your artifact isn’t familiar!”

“Selka is Emberhold’s head of magic. Everything about Aether goes through her. Unfortunately.” Nero explained.

Her? The head of magic operations? Rokuro narrowed his eyes. On top of being younger than him, she looked like she misplaced her shoes daily.

“I still don’t understand why she called us colourless…” Rokuro leaned over to whisper to Kagi.

“It’s likely what they call anyone without gray skin.”

“Oh…” Rokuro nodded, “And what’s that about Aether?”

Selka coughed.

“Aether is what flows in Ironwood Forest in abundance. Our very own pure kind of magic.” She spoke with a grin on her face, “And also just because you’re whispering doesn’t mean we can’t hear you.”

“Tch.”

“Enough.” Lykos interjected, “Summon Yanissa and Basko. War council will commence.”

Selka tapped her chin. “Wait… shouldn’t the Warden be here too? What’s leader Ravuun doing that’s more important than this?”

She glanced at Nero. “Is your dad not available?”

Nero’s eye twitched. “Selka.”

Rokuro blinked. “Your dad?!”

Kagi arched a brow. “You’re the son of the rebellion’s leader and you didn’t think that was relevant?”

“It’s not,” Nero said flatly, turning down the corridor, “I’m me, and he’s him.”

Rokuro threw his arms up. “How is that not—?”

“We just coexist. I’m not defined by him.” Nero muttered under his breath.

“The Warden doesn’t need to be present yet,” Lykos said. “We’ll decide whether a young boy is even worth his time.”

Seemingly with nothing else to discuss he turned and walked ahead. Just what even was this council?

╒ 🗝 ╛

Rokuro sat stiffly at the head of the round stone table. Kagi sat beside him, poised and silent, arms folded. Around the chamber, six seats curved along the outer arc—each filled with someone who carried weight, either in muscle, mind, or presence.

Lykos, the rebellion’s general, stood just behind his chair, hands folded behind his back.

Selka, the head of magical affairs, had her feet tucked under her robe as she sat criss-cross in her seat.

Yanissa, calm as falling snow, sat with her eyes closed in meditation. The Spirit-Seer wore layers of pale cloth and bone-colored beads, her presence like a steady breeze in the room. Her long white hair cascaded down her back.

Basko, the Forge Overseer, leaned against his chair with arms crossed, eyes scanning Rokuro like he was a faulty blade fresh off the anvil. His beard looked like it had been scorched by a forge more than once, and he still smelled faintly of steel and embers.

Nero was the last to arrive, leaning back with a casual tilt, one leg up. His seat was a special one. He held the authority to mediate between the rebels and the Aetheralyx. He had a rare but useful gift.

This was Emberhold’s war council. Every decision regarding it had to go through them first.

Lykos was the first to speak.

“Assuming you truly are the Lock of prophecy, you can’t expect us to believe you came here unarmed.”

Rokuro raised a brow. “Isn’t the gauntlet enough for you?”

Kagi spoke, “Everyone needs a weapon to protect themselves. Especially when an entire city is hunting them.”

Basko grunted. “Weapons, sure. But what about hidden tools? Poison blades? Crystals?”

Rokuro blinked. Then reached into his jacket pocket, fingers brushing something he hadn’t thought about in a while.

“I do have that weird cube…”

“Keybox.” Kagi corrected.

Rokuro recalled Lucas’s voice from long ago: Just visualize what you want while holding it.

Rokuro focused.

And then despite his doubts, a heavy linen sack materialized in the air— exactly over Nero’s head, the closest seated to them.

THWUMP.

“GURGH—!”

Nero crumpled under the weight as the sack fell on his head, arms splayed out like a squashed insect.

Selka clapped. “WOW! What a bizarre artifact! Cross-dimensional spatial compression? Otherworldly channeling? Fascinating!”

Lykos frowned. “What’s in there?”

Rokuro shrugged. “Rations. And gold we can’t spend. Y’know. ‘Cause of the wanted posters.”

Nero wheezed. “That was real gold…”

Kagi deadpanned, “What is it with men and gold?”

A soft chuckle floated through the chamber—Yanissa.

“For a prophesied hero to walk through the Ironwood Forest…” she said gently, “…he must have a reason. Tell us, Lock. Why are you here?”

Rokuro exhaled. No point hiding it.

“We’re after someone. A man wearing a mask with a third eye—calls himself Draven. He’s not just dangerous—he’s tearing realms apart, world by world, throwing everything out of balance.”

Kagi nodded. “He’s already begun spreading his influence in Crystalor. His goal is cosmic, not political. Have you seen anything… strange?”

Lykos’s voice cut through.

“Your questions will be answered. But first, we need to know if you’re worth answering.”

Selka leaned in, smirking. “And if you’re not, I’ll gladly dissect you and study your magic. Just saying.”

Rokuro’s knuckles tightened on the table. He took a breath. For a second he pondered his options. This kind of meeting needed tact… intelligence.

But Rokuro couldn’t afford the patience to wait any longer.

He stood.

“You know what?! Screw diplomacy. I’m not here to convince you I’m some hero with godlike powers. I don’t have that. I don’t even know how half this stuff works! But I do know that bastard is going to destroy my world if I don’t stop him. So I came here, not because you need me—but because I need you.”

He met their gazes—one by one.

“If you want to throw me out, fine. I’ll find another way. Just me and Kagi. But don’t think I came here to play savior. I came here to find a way to stop Draven. And I will do it. With or without your help.”

Silence.

Kagi’s eyes flicked to him, something like admiration flickering beneath her cool stare.

Lykos laced his fingers and rested his arms on the table.

“So you don’t consider yourself a useful ally to us?”

Rokuro answered without hesitation.

“I don’t know why you’re fighting against Crystalor. But I know something’s wrong with it. And that’s why I’m here.”

Kagi stood too, her voice clear and sharp.

“They labeled the Lock a harbinger of destruction. That corruption runs as deep as their history.”

Yanissa opened her eyes at last.

“You are right to question their story. The Lock of Legend was always a blessing—not a curse. The fact they’ve twisted that shows how far they’ll go to brainwash the citizens.”

Kagi’s gaze swept the table. There was a fire beneath her gaze one couldn’t very well deny.

“We’ve been honest with you. Now it’s your turn.”

A moment of quiet passed. Then Selka stood, arms crossed.

“We’re fighting because the relic they worship isn’t divine—it’s stolen. It’s a precious shard of the Aetheralyx. Something akin to their life force. The Glass Castle sits atop it not because Luminastra gifted it to the people, but because their king stole it centuries ago and used it to power the whole city.”

Basko rumbled. “And the land suffers. Corrosion spreads because of it. The crystals rot everything they touch.”

Yanissa added, “Spirits of the forest are twisted by its presence. They speak of a coming collapse.”

Lykos’s voice was grim. “And the king hoards power while feeding lies to the people who die for him every day like rats. Every story he and his cult spout is a hoax. The rebellion began generations ago—but now… we prepare to finish it.”

Rokuro and Kagi exchanged a glance.

“This isn’t exactly what I imagined…” Rokuro muttered.

“It’s worse.” Kagi nodded.

Lykos leaned forward slightly.

“One last thing. If you’re so powerless as you say… How did you escape Crystalor? How’d you slip past their surveillance?”

Rokuro blinked. “We got help. From an old couple. Gave us shelter, a bed and a meal. Now that I think about it… they said their son ran off to join the rebels…” The room paused for a moment.

He squinted at Lykos.

Rokuro needn’t say no more. The general’s eyes widened.

“…Reckless, as always,” he muttered. But a small smile touched the edge of his lips.

Then—

BANG.

The chamber doors burst open. Heavy boots echoed against stone.

A giant stepped through.

White braided hair. A silvered moustache like fangs. Muscles carved like stone beneath his tunic.

His voice shook the walls.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

Kagi whispered, “Let me guess…”

Rokuro stood. “Fuck…”

The Hollow Warden had arrived.