Chapter 48 : in the hollow of the tree

The streets of Elandor wound like silver threads beneath their feet, deceptively serene. Lanterns of floating light drifted in the air, casting soft hues across cobbled paths that shimmered with embedded crystal dust. Fae merchants bartered with scholars, spirits lounged atop rooftops, and golems carried crates like obedient oxen. It was beautiful—too beautiful.
Aldah squinted suspiciously. “Why does everything here look like it wants to smile at me… and then strangle me?”
Vix snorted. “Because it probably does.”
Thalen walked ahead with Eryndor close beside him, hood lifted just enough to hide his royal markings. Arachne remained silent near the rear, her stormy gaze sweeping the surroundings. Kael, Lara, and Ryo stayed close, sensing the invisible tension humming beneath every step.
They crossed a bridge of transparent quartz, water flowing below in glowing threads of blue and violet. As they reached its center, Aldah groaned dramatically.
“Okay, I give up. Someone explain before my brain starts making up conspiracy theories. Why does this place feel like paradise wrapped around a bear trap?”
Vix and Eryndor exchanged a look. Vix gave a low exhale.
“You asked for it,” he muttered.
Eryndor slowed his pace, letting Thalen move slightly ahead. “dont forget that Geneva is not one kingdom. It is five heads wearing one crown, each of them has its way of ruling”
Vix snorted. “That’s what West Geneva wants everyone outside to believe.”
They kept walking, the streets gradually widening into a boulevard lined with towering crystal obelisks. Each one bore spiraling glyphs glowing faintly—a silent pulse of mana.
Eryndor began first. His voice was calm, steady. “Geneva is divided by function—each region responsible for a stage of mana crystal production. They are interdependent by necessity… and enemies by nature.”
Aldah perked up. “Enemies? This is getting good.”
Eryndor’s gaze hardened. “North Geneva. The Spine.”
Ryo glanced over. “The mining region?”
“Yes,” Eryndor nodded. “Mountains riddled with crystal veins. Brutal terrain. Bitter winters. The miners are as hard as the stone they break. They bleed for every shard extracted. They provide the raw essence of our prosperity—and receive the least recognition.”
Vix added dryly, “And when a single shipment goes missing, South blames East, East blames West, West blames ghosts, and North just sharpens their pickaxes.”
Aldah whistled.
“And lately, they’ve stopped sending full shipments. Some say they’re hoarding. Preparing.”
“Preparing for what?”
“War, the rest of my family leaves there, they are all wars healer ” Vix said simply.
Kael blinked.
They turned down another street where glowing rivers cut between buildings like arteries. The air itself vibrated faintly, crackling with enchantment.
“East Geneva,” Eryndor continued. “The Forge.”
Lara lifted her head slightly. Even she could feel it—the air alive with creation.
“Here, raw crystals are heated, shaped, bound into vessels and conduits. Spellsmiths work in great halls where the walls themselves sing with arcane resonance. Their work is unmatched in all known kingdoms. But…”
“But?” Ryo pressed.
Eryndor’s jaw tightened. “They believe themselves superior. To them, North are brutes, South are parasites, West are leeches. They tolerate only those who understand mana’s sanctity.”
Vix smirked. “And when someone doesn’t? Well. There were accidents. Exploding furnaces. Miscast enchantments. Or so they claim.”
Aldah’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re saying they killed people on purpose?”
“Hard to prove,” Vix shrugged. “When your enemies die in magical accidents, everyone calls it tragedy. When it happens twice a month, people start whispering.”
Arachne’s low chuckle drifted behind them. “and whispers are the roots of revolt.”
They reached a circular plaza, where four great roads branched in different directions—each marked by a towering engraved sigil.
Eryndor nodded toward the southern path. “South Geneva. The Vein.”
“What do they do?” Kael asked.
“They implement mana. They take the forged crystals and channel energy through them—for weapons, tools, machines, medicine. They are innovators. Tinkerers. Scholars. Their cities run on humminglight rails and floating elevators. They bring magic into common life.” His voice lowered. “And because of that… they see themselves as indispensable.”
“Let me guess,” Aldah said. “They think the others are savages.”
“Unrefined,” Eryndor corrected. “They argue North’s crystals break equipment. East’s enchantments overheat. West slows their progress. They want freedom from oversight.”
Kael frowned. “So why don’t they break off and work alone?”
Eryndor gave a mirthless smile. “Because their inventions explode without stabilized mana.”
Ryo finally spoke. “West Geneva.”
Vix nodded. “The Anchor. The calm poison.”
Aldah tilted her head. “That’s… ominous.”
“They stabilize crystals,” Vix said. “Scientist take volatile mana and make it safe. They have towers, patience, Methods utterly ruthless in silence.”
And sometimes, craziness.
“And when everything is stabilized they deliver crystal to the others and the cycle repeats itself ” added Lara.
They fell quiet for a moment, their footsteps echoing through the vast plaza. Only the hum of distant machinery and singing spell-wards filled the air.
Then Aldah asked, softer than before—almost reluctant.
“And the fifth?” asked arachnee looking at Lara.
Lara's marks started to hurt her again.
Eryndor’s gaze went ahead—toward the towering spire at the heart of the city, visible now between crystal archways. It rose like a blade of light piercing the sky.
“Central Geneva,” he murmured. “The Crown. They oversee distribution, law, diplomacy. They ensure cooperation between divisions.”
“They sound important,” Aldah offered.
“The Royal family was loved and appreciated now...They are hated,” Vix replied bluntly. “Every division blames them for every shortcoming. They tax every crystal. They mediate every argument, badly. They sign treaties that never hold. They claim to keep peace—but they are the reason the war hasn’t started yet.”
“Yet,” Aldah echoed.
They walked again. This time in silence that felt heavier than steel.
Finally, Ryo asked, “Has it always been this way?”
Eryndor’s eyes darkened. “There was a time when unity was more than a word. When the Five were one. They forged a Pact—a promise that no division would rise above another. They swore their machines, blades, and vaults would serve life, not power.”
“What happened?” Kael asked.
“Someone broke it,” Vix said. “No one knows who. Or at least no one agrees. Some say North withheld crystals in protest. Some say East forged weapons in secret. Some say South stole enchantments to create war machines. Some say West rigged stabilizers to fail. Some… blame Central for staging the entire thing to tighten its grip.”
“And what do you believe?” Aldah asked Vix.
Vix gave a smirk that did not reach his eyes. “I believe everyone is guilty. And everyone is lying.”
Arachne spoke again, her voice silk and thunder. “Truth is irrelevant. Belief is the blade that cuts deepest. If North believes East betrayed them… they will act as though it is true. If West believes South schemes to replace them… they will strike first. Reality is made of conviction. Not fact.”
Thalen, who had stayed silent the entire time, finally spoke.
“And now I walk into this fire with a peace decree.”
Eryndor turned toward him, expression unreadable. “Not peace, Thalen. A choice. You will either become the symbol that unites them… or the spark that divides them more.”
Thalen inhaled slowly. “I know.”
Kael rubbed her face. “Great. Civil war with magical nukes. Fantastic vacation spot.”
Vix chuckled dryly. “Then consider this your welcome.”
They approached the grand spire at last—its doors towering like the gates of heaven. Guards in shimmering armor stood beside it, eyes cold, weapons humming with bound energy.
Eryndor stepped forward, his voice steady as stone.
“Thalen of Moonvale. Heir of the Elder Glade. We request entry.”
The guards exchanged looks. One stepped aside. The gates began to open with a deep resonant hum.
Aldah muttered under her breath, “Anyone else feel like we’re walking straight into a dragon’s mouth?”
Ryo’s beast gave a low growl.
Eryndor answered without turning.
“We are.”