Chapter thirty-nine: So it Began

Gilly stood close to the door. The people in the room spoke to each other in low, heavy tones that made the air feel thicker than it already was.
Strangely, she felt odd—an eerie prickle along her neck—as though invisible eyes lingered on her every move.

Two figures stood out the most: Katharine, with her composed nobility, and the old man with the white beard, whose eyes were sharp yet kind.
From time to time, she caught them stealing glances her way, and each time she did, a strange unease stirred in her chest.

The entire journey here had worn her down mentally. Between the cautious stares from strangers in the streets and the unfamiliar energy pressing around her now, exhaustion clawed at her spirit.

“So who is this young lad?” Katharine asked at last, her voice calm but heavy with curiosity.

The room went silent for the first time. All eyes turned toward Gilly.
“This is Gilly,” Hilary said quickly. “She’s a cousin of mine.”

She turned back and winked at Zin. He just gazed back at her. He knew was trying to do him a favor by taking the burden of Gilly's identity. But he had no problem with that.

“Hmm… strange,” the old man murmured, his brows lifting slightly. “I’ve never heard of such a lad.”
“Grandmaster,” Hilary continued softly, “I’ll explain more later. For now, we have something brewing that needs discussion.”

The shift in tone was immediate—the air changed. The relaxed chatter vanished, replaced by grim faces and tightened shoulders. Even Zenora, usually unbothered, gripped her staff once more as though for comfort.

“Ho ho, don’t you think you’re scaring the young one?” Bathamuel said, his grin trying to cut through the tension.

After a brief chuckle, the discussion truly began.
Hilary straightened her back and spoke:

“A few days ago, in a village near the Tomarian Mountains, a strange incident occurred. The entire city was wiped out, leaving only… mummified corpses.”

Her words echoed through the room. The quiet crackle of the wall lanterns sounded louder than before.

“The only witness,” she continued, “was a Kitsune child who had been attacked—though the attack didn’t happen in the village itself. She was nearly dead when found by her brother. The only thing she could describe was a ghostly figure with glowing eyes, carrying a sword.”

A faint chill crept through the room.

“Now,” Hilary went on, “a trail has appeared—dried-up animals, from the eastern seashore all the way to the plains of Tomaria—before it disappears entirely.”
“The city was found deserted, filled with bodies. We only discovered it after the flag bearers were sent when the town stopped responding to communications for a day.”

The grandmaster stroked his beard slowly.
“No further evidence?”
“None,” Hilary said. “But it’s thrown the entire country into alarm.”

“Night creatures,” Zin muttered. His tone was sure, though his expression said otherwise.

“I do agree,” Bathamuel said, nodding. “But no known creature outside the Larker does such a thing. And it only moves on snow.”
He spoke from experience—one that had nearly cost him his life. Even recalling it, his hooved feet tapped lightly against the floor.

The room burst into a low, frenzied debate—old voices clashing like the soft hum of blades beneath velvet.
Only Gilly and Zenora remained silent, their presence small among legends.

Katharine’s eyes, however, shifted toward Gilly again. She noticed something—her skin shimmered faintly, her eyes flickered with a pale blue light, pulsing once every few breaths.
It was subtle but rhythmic, like the quiet beat of another heart inside her.

Katharine exchanged a brief glance with the grandmaster. He nodded slightly, stroking his beard again, as if confirming a suspicion neither dared voice.

Across the table, the short, muscular man—Stugvlk—narrowed his eyes at Gilly. Something invisible glimmered on her left ear.
An earring.
But not just any earring—one that pulsed with light only he seemed to notice.

He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. No mistake.
His breath hitched. It was an armament—a creation from his master, forged centuries ago.
But why was it here, on this girl?
And who had his master given it to? He couldn’t remember. The memory slipped like smoke through his mind.

“Stugvlk?” the man in white armor beside Katharine called out.
“It’s nothing,” he muttered, eyes still on Gilly.

“But what about the Nether creatures?” the grandmaster asked, turning to Zin.

Zin shook his head slowly. “No idea. Nothing fits the pattern.”
The uncertainty in his voice filled the gaps between breaths.

Since there was no known culprit, one conclusion remained.
“I guess we’ll have to call on the Flag Bearers,” Hilary said.

“Watch your mouth, Hilary,” the man in white armor snapped.

Katharine chuckled softly, spreading her fan across her lips.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself… boy,” she said, her tone laced with amusement and warning. Her eyes glowed faintly.

“What I meant,” the man replied, bristling, “is that being a flag bearer doesn’t mean you can casually enlist the entire order.”
His voice was sharp, self-assured.

The room fell silent. A breeze slipped through the window, brushing the curtains as if trying to calm the rising tension.

Gilly had already drifted into her own thoughts. The world around her blurred; her gaze turned distant, her breathing slow. She felt… somewhere else.
Zenora, meanwhile, hid behind Zin, peeking timidly past his shoulder.
Siel, watching it all, felt disheartened. The arrogance of the armored man grated on him.

“Andrew. Calm down,” Bathamuel said finally.
Andrew—the man in white armor—sighed and stood. His boots clinked against the stone floor. He cast one final glance toward Hilary, then Zin, before walking out.

The tension eased only slightly.
Zin’s mind was racing. A sudden realization struck him.
“Night King of the North… Demons… Elador.”
His eyes widened. The others turned toward him, confused.

“The Artifact Incident,” he said flatly.

Bathamuel froze. Katharine’s fan lowered. Stugvlk’s head tilted.
They understood immediately. The grandmaster too paused mid-motion, eyes narrowing with grim awareness.
They were beings well over three centuries old—each remembering a time most had forgotten.

Hilary blinked in confusion. “The what…?” She was young; the past meant stories to her, not memories.

“Do you remember the story of Elim and the Little Artifact?” Bathamuel asked quietly.

Hilary nodded. “It’s a folklore. Every child in Asram knows it.”
Then, realization dawned on her face—
“Wait… you mean—”
“It was never just a story,” Bathamuel said.

Even Siel’s expression hardened. He had known Elim’s name—Zin’s mother—but never guessed the myth was true.

Meanwhile, Stugvlk’s attention returned to Gilly. Her eyes glowed faintly again; her entire body seemed to pulse with that same rhythm as before. She was lost in trance, unaware of the looks she drew.

Zenora had long since stopped caring about the meeting’s politics. She just clutched her staff tighter and hid further behind Zin.

“Now… where is this artifact?”
Zin hesitated. His thoughts raced back to Seras—and the book Gilly had received. The connection hit him like lightning.

He kept silent for a moment, then finally spoke:
“It’s heading to Elnor… the demon.”

Around eighty years ago, the demons attempted to steal an ancient artifact entrusted to Elim’s care. Using the façade of a slave trade, they lured her away from Elador — a trap woven with cruel precision. It was during that chaos that Siel Bathamul and Siel were freed from their shackles, their first breath of freedom born amidst treachery and blood.

But the demons’ true goal was never the trade; it was the artifact. When they struck, Elim stood her ground. Though outnumbered and cornered, she fought to protect it until her final breath. It is said that, in her last moments, she poured her very life force into a sealing spell — hiding the artifact in a place no eyes could ever reach.

The only place fitting such a legend lies deep within the Inner Chambers of the Great Library, where Elim once served as guardian — buried in the heart of Elnor Province, beyond the sight of gods and mortals alike.

Although this was how the folklore told it, there was far more to the story than anyone had ever dared to speak. Zin’s voice cut through the hush.

The room fell still again—an almost tangible stillness, heavy with the echo of forgotten names. The faint hiss of the lanterns was the only sound left.
He went on to explain their recent encounter, each word sinking deep as realization dawned upon the group. What they had thought was merely a detour was, in truth, only the threshold—the real journey was just beginning.

What lay ahead was no longer a simple pursuit… but a race against time itself.

Gilly blinked, as if waking from a trance. The story drew her back—each fragment of Zin’s words threading through her mind, stirring something half-remembered, half-felt. She leaned forward slightly, her breath shallow, eyes fixed on him.

“Artifact…” she murmured, the word escaping her lips like a whisper carried by the weight of fate.