Chapter 74:
Chapter 74 – Smoke Beneath the Stone
The Sovereign Ascendant
The sun dipped behind the western hills, casting long shadows over the Wolfhart estate. The air cooled, carrying whispers of coming change.
I was finishing my cooldown drills near the training yard’s edge when a flicker caught my eye—Neon crouched behind a pillar, one eye peering at me, fingers weaving a rapid, secret signal.
I paused, wiping sweat from my brow. Always something, I thought.
Without a word, I followed her, stepping lightly through the estate’s quieter paths—the servant’s route, past tangled gardens overgrown with wild herbs, and finally to a dusty observatory tower that sat half-forgotten at the estate’s edge.
Inside, low lantern light flickered across stone walls lined with ancient bookshelves. The scent of old parchment and dust mingled with the faint tinge of mana residue.
Shadow periodics was gathered—Neon, Argon, Krypton, and others—faces lit with anxious determination.
Neon’s eyes met mine as I stepped inside. Her tone was serious, but quiet enough to keep us all alert.
“It’s not official yet,” she said, “but we’ve gathered pieces—from town chatter, guild halls, border travelers...”
Krypton unrolled a weathered map, spreading it on the cracked wooden table. Red ink marked three spots: Valheim, Draywick, and Erosen.
“They’re calling it the Hollow Sleep,” Krypton said. “No fever. No damage. No waking up.”
Argon leaned in. “MP users enter stasis... but non-MP users? They just vanish. Dead in days.”
Neon’s voice dropped further. “Thirty to forty days. Some towns are losing a third of their population.”
The room fell silent, the weight of those words settling over us.
“Wolfergarde’s still clean,” Argon finally broke the quiet, “but for how long?”
I left.
Krypton’s gaze sharpened as she added, “They say an artifact exists — the Lifebinder’s Prism. It might stop the disease.”
Neon’s eyes flickered toward me.
“Only a few exist. One’s rumored to be sealed in a dungeon here.”
Before she could say more, a sudden realization hit the room.
“Where’s Lord Aren?” Krypton asked, voice edged with frustration.
---
(Aren — Slipping Out to Town)
I’d already slipped away minutes earlier.
The tension in the estate had become a weight I needed to shake off. The shift in the air wasn’t just rumors or fear. Something deeper whispered beneath the noise.
I moved through the quiet streets of a nearby town, dressed plainly—cloak pulled tight against the chill. Lanterns cast pools of golden light, illuminating shopfronts closing for the night.
The scent of roasted chestnuts mingled with the murmur of distant laughter. Children darted between stalls, chasing sparks of elemental light they’d conjured.
I sidestepped a pair arguing over fruit prices, their voices rising in frustration.
“This town’s the same as always,” I muttered to myself. “Loud. Busy. Unbothered.”
A stray cat brushed past my leg, tail flicking against my cloak. I glanced down, lips twitching in an almost-smile.
“Still here, huh?”
A vendor called out from his stall, “Young master! Want a steamed bun? Last batch’s still warm!”
I paused, hands deep in pockets. The vendor smiled, holding out a cloth-wrapped bundle.
“No charge,” he said. “You helped me weeks back.”
I nodded once, wordless, taking the bun. The vendor’s smile lingered as I turned away.
Biting into it, I frowned.
“…Too sweet.”
But I ate anyway.
---
Back at the estate, Sylvie moved silently through the corridors. Alone, she lit lanterns, their soft glow chasing away the shadows.
She hummed faintly as she arranged bundles of medicinal herbs—not because they would heal the Hollow Sleep, but because the ritual calmed her nerves.
A passing maid whispered to her, voice barely audible, “Did you hear? That sleeping sickness... a village in Erosen just went still.”
Sylvie paused, fingers trembling as she arranged the last bundle.
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she turned to the window, staring out toward the horizon where the last light bled into dusk.
“Please don’t let it reach here.”
---
Back in the observatory tower, Krypton stood, voice low but urgent.
“...Vault of Hollow Echoes. That’s where it might be.”
Neon sighed, glancing toward the doorway.
“He left again before hearing the important part…”
Argon chuckled softly.
“Isn’t that just like him?”
Krypton adjusted her collar, tone flat.
“Drops in, drops out. No exit lines. No thanks.”
Neon smirked, mock frustration coloring her voice.
“At this point, I’m convinced he has selective hearing.”
Argon smirked back.
“Selective everything. Presence, personality...”
A laugh escaped Neon despite herself.
“Sometimes I wonder if he even knows we’re a team.”
Krypton deadpanned.
“He knows. He just thinks we’re the background music to his internal monologue.”
Argon stretched her arms with a loud yawn.
“Well, background or not… we’ve got to handle this.”
Neon softened slightly.
“Yeah. And that’s why we’re still here.”
The candlelight flickered, dancing over maps and scattered notes.
Neon smirked again.
“He won’t even tell us why.”
Krypton sighed.
“He never does.”
Neon muttered as she scribbled notes.
“What matters is the pattern. The Prism rumor, disease spread, Erosen activity... It’s lining up too neatly.”
Argon twirled a small wind dagger between fingers.
“Still feels random. Maybe just political chaos like always. Or merchants playing myth games to spike relic prices.”
Krypton tilted her head.
“But then why the troop movement along Erosen’s border? And sudden silence from Draywick’s informant hub?”
Neon whispered, voice low.
“Something’s coming. We just don’t know what yet.”
The wind howled outside, rattling cracked glass.
A long silence followed.
Argon broke it with a grin.
“On the bright side, if this is the end of the world… I call dibs on punching the first doom prophet.”
Krypton smirked, adjusting gloves.
“You can punch. I’ll interrogate.”
Neon smiled faintly, standing to tuck away the scroll.
“Then let’s be ready. No panic—just quiet preparation. As always.”
The blue lantern glowed softly as the girls settled, weary but resolute.
---
Argon stretched again, groaning.
“Ugh, my legs are numb. Next time, I’m bringing a cushion. Or stealing one from Sylvie’s stash.”
Krypton flipped through a leather-bound notebook, dry as ever.
“You’ve had weeks to prepare and you still complain. Tactical incompetence.”
Argon smirked.
“Tactical laziness, thank you. Entirely different strategy.”
Neon leaned on the windowsill, watching stars.
“You say that like you didn’t stuff snacks in your boots last week.”
Argon gasped, mock-defensive.
“That was an emergency ration! I was emotionally compromised!”
Krypton raised an eyebrow.
“You cried because your favorite cloak got singed.”
Argon gasped again.
“It was limited-edition frostweave! Do you even know how rare that is?”
Neon giggled.
“You mean the one with the embroidered baby wyvern? You named it Sparkle.”
Argon puffed out her chest.
“Sparkle was majestic.”
Krypton sighed.
“And now Sparkle is ashes.”
They fell into laughter—the kind only comrades who’d faced death together could share.
---
Neon brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, voice soft.
“It’s strange… sitting like this. Quiet. Almost like normal life.”
Argon nodded, distant.
“I forgot what that felt like.”
Krypton, after a pause.
“We should make this normal. At least once a week. No missions. No code names. Just... us.”
The lantern crackled gently.
Neon smiled.
“Deal. But next time, I’m picking the snacks. No more salted beet chips.”
Argon feigned betrayal.
“Those are elite!”
Krypton didn’t look up.
“They taste like disappointment.”
Laughter echoed warmly in the lonely tower as the world outside shifted.
---
I slipped away from the estate, needing space from whispered fears.
The nearby town hummed with life—lanterns spilling golden light on cobblestones, the smell of roasting chestnuts thick in the air.
I passed bakeries closing, children chasing wooden swords and sparks of elemental light.
The town was loud. Busy. Unbothered.
I sidestepped a pair arguing over fruit prices, keeping my hood low.
A stray cat brushed against my leg. I glanced down.
“Still here, huh?”
A vendor’s cheerful call pulled me to a stall.
“Young master! Want another steamed bun? Last batch’s still warm!”
He smiled as he handed me one, no charge.
I bit in, face blank.
“…Too sweet.”
But I ate it all.
Passing a tavern, drunken singing spilled into the night, lute music out of tune.
Friends toasted inside, a dog wagged under the table, a girl spun laughing with flour dust on her apron.
I stopped, watched.
No masks. Just life.
I turned and kept walking.
---
Climbing a narrow stairwell, I found a quiet rooftop overlooking the town.
The sounds below faded to a murmur.
Wind rustled my coat as stars blinked awake.
I sat at the edge, unwrapped the last of the bun.
“Not bad... for sugarbread.”
From a nearby chimney, a pigeon flapped off.
I watched it vanish into the night sky.
They all fly. No one knows where. No one needs to.
I finished the bun, dusted off my hands, and stood.
Eyes turned toward distant hills beyond Wolfengarde.
“…It’s going to rain tomorrow.”
To be continued
I was finishing my cooldown drills near the training yard’s edge when a flicker caught my eye—Neon crouched behind a pillar, one eye peering at me, fingers weaving a rapid, secret signal.
I paused, wiping sweat from my brow. Always something, I thought.
Without a word, I followed her, stepping lightly through the estate’s quieter paths—the servant’s route, past tangled gardens overgrown with wild herbs, and finally to a dusty observatory tower that sat half-forgotten at the estate’s edge.
Inside, low lantern light flickered across stone walls lined with ancient bookshelves. The scent of old parchment and dust mingled with the faint tinge of mana residue.
Shadow periodics was gathered—Neon, Argon, Krypton, and others—faces lit with anxious determination.
Neon’s eyes met mine as I stepped inside. Her tone was serious, but quiet enough to keep us all alert.
“It’s not official yet,” she said, “but we’ve gathered pieces—from town chatter, guild halls, border travelers...”
Krypton unrolled a weathered map, spreading it on the cracked wooden table. Red ink marked three spots: Valheim, Draywick, and Erosen.
“They’re calling it the Hollow Sleep,” Krypton said. “No fever. No damage. No waking up.”
Argon leaned in. “MP users enter stasis... but non-MP users? They just vanish. Dead in days.”
Neon’s voice dropped further. “Thirty to forty days. Some towns are losing a third of their population.”
The room fell silent, the weight of those words settling over us.
“Wolfergarde’s still clean,” Argon finally broke the quiet, “but for how long?”
I left.
Krypton’s gaze sharpened as she added, “They say an artifact exists — the Lifebinder’s Prism. It might stop the disease.”
Neon’s eyes flickered toward me.
“Only a few exist. One’s rumored to be sealed in a dungeon here.”
Before she could say more, a sudden realization hit the room.
“Where’s Lord Aren?” Krypton asked, voice edged with frustration.
---
(Aren — Slipping Out to Town)
I’d already slipped away minutes earlier.
The tension in the estate had become a weight I needed to shake off. The shift in the air wasn’t just rumors or fear. Something deeper whispered beneath the noise.
I moved through the quiet streets of a nearby town, dressed plainly—cloak pulled tight against the chill. Lanterns cast pools of golden light, illuminating shopfronts closing for the night.
The scent of roasted chestnuts mingled with the murmur of distant laughter. Children darted between stalls, chasing sparks of elemental light they’d conjured.
I sidestepped a pair arguing over fruit prices, their voices rising in frustration.
“This town’s the same as always,” I muttered to myself. “Loud. Busy. Unbothered.”
A stray cat brushed past my leg, tail flicking against my cloak. I glanced down, lips twitching in an almost-smile.
“Still here, huh?”
A vendor called out from his stall, “Young master! Want a steamed bun? Last batch’s still warm!”
I paused, hands deep in pockets. The vendor smiled, holding out a cloth-wrapped bundle.
“No charge,” he said. “You helped me weeks back.”
I nodded once, wordless, taking the bun. The vendor’s smile lingered as I turned away.
Biting into it, I frowned.
“…Too sweet.”
But I ate anyway.
---
Back at the estate, Sylvie moved silently through the corridors. Alone, she lit lanterns, their soft glow chasing away the shadows.
She hummed faintly as she arranged bundles of medicinal herbs—not because they would heal the Hollow Sleep, but because the ritual calmed her nerves.
A passing maid whispered to her, voice barely audible, “Did you hear? That sleeping sickness... a village in Erosen just went still.”
Sylvie paused, fingers trembling as she arranged the last bundle.
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she turned to the window, staring out toward the horizon where the last light bled into dusk.
“Please don’t let it reach here.”
---
Back in the observatory tower, Krypton stood, voice low but urgent.
“...Vault of Hollow Echoes. That’s where it might be.”
Neon sighed, glancing toward the doorway.
“He left again before hearing the important part…”
Argon chuckled softly.
“Isn’t that just like him?”
Krypton adjusted her collar, tone flat.
“Drops in, drops out. No exit lines. No thanks.”
Neon smirked, mock frustration coloring her voice.
“At this point, I’m convinced he has selective hearing.”
Argon smirked back.
“Selective everything. Presence, personality...”
A laugh escaped Neon despite herself.
“Sometimes I wonder if he even knows we’re a team.”
Krypton deadpanned.
“He knows. He just thinks we’re the background music to his internal monologue.”
Argon stretched her arms with a loud yawn.
“Well, background or not… we’ve got to handle this.”
Neon softened slightly.
“Yeah. And that’s why we’re still here.”
The candlelight flickered, dancing over maps and scattered notes.
Neon smirked again.
“He won’t even tell us why.”
Krypton sighed.
“He never does.”
Neon muttered as she scribbled notes.
“What matters is the pattern. The Prism rumor, disease spread, Erosen activity... It’s lining up too neatly.”
Argon twirled a small wind dagger between fingers.
“Still feels random. Maybe just political chaos like always. Or merchants playing myth games to spike relic prices.”
Krypton tilted her head.
“But then why the troop movement along Erosen’s border? And sudden silence from Draywick’s informant hub?”
Neon whispered, voice low.
“Something’s coming. We just don’t know what yet.”
The wind howled outside, rattling cracked glass.
A long silence followed.
Argon broke it with a grin.
“On the bright side, if this is the end of the world… I call dibs on punching the first doom prophet.”
Krypton smirked, adjusting gloves.
“You can punch. I’ll interrogate.”
Neon smiled faintly, standing to tuck away the scroll.
“Then let’s be ready. No panic—just quiet preparation. As always.”
The blue lantern glowed softly as the girls settled, weary but resolute.
---
Argon stretched again, groaning.
“Ugh, my legs are numb. Next time, I’m bringing a cushion. Or stealing one from Sylvie’s stash.”
Krypton flipped through a leather-bound notebook, dry as ever.
“You’ve had weeks to prepare and you still complain. Tactical incompetence.”
Argon smirked.
“Tactical laziness, thank you. Entirely different strategy.”
Neon leaned on the windowsill, watching stars.
“You say that like you didn’t stuff snacks in your boots last week.”
Argon gasped, mock-defensive.
“That was an emergency ration! I was emotionally compromised!”
Krypton raised an eyebrow.
“You cried because your favorite cloak got singed.”
Argon gasped again.
“It was limited-edition frostweave! Do you even know how rare that is?”
Neon giggled.
“You mean the one with the embroidered baby wyvern? You named it Sparkle.”
Argon puffed out her chest.
“Sparkle was majestic.”
Krypton sighed.
“And now Sparkle is ashes.”
They fell into laughter—the kind only comrades who’d faced death together could share.
---
Neon brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, voice soft.
“It’s strange… sitting like this. Quiet. Almost like normal life.”
Argon nodded, distant.
“I forgot what that felt like.”
Krypton, after a pause.
“We should make this normal. At least once a week. No missions. No code names. Just... us.”
The lantern crackled gently.
Neon smiled.
“Deal. But next time, I’m picking the snacks. No more salted beet chips.”
Argon feigned betrayal.
“Those are elite!”
Krypton didn’t look up.
“They taste like disappointment.”
Laughter echoed warmly in the lonely tower as the world outside shifted.
---
I slipped away from the estate, needing space from whispered fears.
The nearby town hummed with life—lanterns spilling golden light on cobblestones, the smell of roasting chestnuts thick in the air.
I passed bakeries closing, children chasing wooden swords and sparks of elemental light.
The town was loud. Busy. Unbothered.
I sidestepped a pair arguing over fruit prices, keeping my hood low.
A stray cat brushed against my leg. I glanced down.
“Still here, huh?”
A vendor’s cheerful call pulled me to a stall.
“Young master! Want another steamed bun? Last batch’s still warm!”
He smiled as he handed me one, no charge.
I bit in, face blank.
“…Too sweet.”
But I ate it all.
Passing a tavern, drunken singing spilled into the night, lute music out of tune.
Friends toasted inside, a dog wagged under the table, a girl spun laughing with flour dust on her apron.
I stopped, watched.
No masks. Just life.
I turned and kept walking.
---
Climbing a narrow stairwell, I found a quiet rooftop overlooking the town.
The sounds below faded to a murmur.
Wind rustled my coat as stars blinked awake.
I sat at the edge, unwrapped the last of the bun.
“Not bad... for sugarbread.”
From a nearby chimney, a pigeon flapped off.
I watched it vanish into the night sky.
They all fly. No one knows where. No one needs to.
I finished the bun, dusted off my hands, and stood.
Eyes turned toward distant hills beyond Wolfengarde.
“…It’s going to rain tomorrow.”
To be continued
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