I almost killed you, Master.

"So..." Frozen drawled, a hint of concern in her eyes as she leaned forward slightly. "How's Oan?"

Wriggler shot her a glance and tucked a napkin into his shirt collar.

"With how you act around him, people would think you didn't care." He remarked before pulling his plate closer.

"What!?" Her eyes widened in disbelief.

"I do care! It's just..."

Her eyes drifted down.

"With him being a Chosen now..." Frozen trailed off, her nose wrinkling in discomfort. Then she let out a frustrated groan.

"He knows I care! Just tell me how he is!?" She cried out in exasperation.

Wriggler tucked a piece of meat in his mouth and chewed it, letting out a pleased moan.

Then he mulled over the question for a brief moment.

"Hmm, let's see. He's tired, hungry, angry, annoyed, sad, dispirited, relieved, hopeful, apprehensive and more."

He remarked after swallowing.

"You know... Just a swirl of normal human emotions he tries to hide under his stoic facade."

Lurin at first looked astonished, but then she seemed a bit skeptical.

Vahn glanced up from his meal at Wriggler.

"I heard he fainted at the news of the late king's death. It's inconceivable...especially for a man of his station. Supreme Commander Marl is no doubt a stronger leader." He remarked, disdain coating his words.

Lt. Sol and Lt. Valerie looked at him with disapproval, while Wriggler had an amused smirk on his face as he focused on his food.

Frozen directed a hard glare his way, seemingly about to say something, but Lurin beat her to it, ignorant of the changed atmosphere in the room.

"It only happened twice in the past...but he can sometimes lose consciousness whenever he experiences an intense emotional shock." She informed, looking down at her fingers on her lap.

"I can't recall how it happened the first time, but the second time was when he made me cry as a child. Only mother could wake him up after that happened, and when he awoke he was in a sour mood."

Most of them appeared shocked by the news.

"That never happened at the fort, did it, Valerie?" Frozen turned to her lady-in-waiting for answers. "You've worked with him frequently at the medical tents ever since he first arrived at the forward military encampment years ago."

Valerie looked thoughtful for a moment and then her expression grew serious.

"Yes, it happened once."

Lurin look troubled at her words.

Wriggler seemed perplexed.

"I don't remember such a thing happening?"

Valerie shook her head. "You hadn't arrived then, Lord Wriggler. It happened a year before you met Lord Troan... It was an occurrence that broke his heart, no less than the time he lost his sentinel."

"What happened?" Jigimon asked, eyes alight with curiosity, already absorbed in her words.

A slight frown marred Valerie's face as she recalled a memory.

"At the time, the tents were full of wounded miners rescued from a monster attack the week prior. Lord Troan had worked for days without rest—he didn't notice when an assassin snuck in, I didn't either, but Eilow did."

Lurin's eyes widened with recognition.

"Eilow? Who's that?" Wriggler raised a curious brow.

Valerie smiled slightly.

"Eilow was a helper, a troubled child, but ultimately a close friend.

"She blocked the first strike with her face and gave Troan enough time to react. But the assassin was crafty and fled the moment the strike didn't connect.

"Lord Troan saw Eilow's bloodied form and fell into an unconscious rage. He realized she had been blinded, blinded for him. He wildly gave chase, but the assassin ended up escaping."

Wriggler shrugged.

"She got blinded, so what? I know light elementals are rare in the north, even more so those who can heal. But there had to be one available at the tents who could quickly heal her before too much time elapsed to treat. Then her sight would be recovered."

She shook her head. "You don't understand, the blade she was struck with was cursed. It was a blade forged from corrupted metals found in the Navar. There was no healing her—except, maybe by a witch. Troan taught so as well, and so he sent her to the Witch Queen, his mother."

"So that's the whole story behind her being here," Lurin muttered to herself, but everyone heard this and turned to her.

Jigimon glanced at her, an intrigued smile playing on her lips. "Slashed by a cursed blade and lived, hm? So that Eilow is here?"

Lurin had an awkward smile.

"Well, she has been living here with us for four years now."

Valerie let out a sigh and leaned back on her chair with a thoughtful expression.

"I thought she would be in the capital. Oddly enough, I haven't found her yet. I had hoped to see her again."

Lurin let out a sympathetic sigh.

"She tends to be busy at the docks during this time of the year when there's an influx of ships trying to make it to Luen before winter. I haven't seen her in a few weeks."

Jigimon tilted her head with a curious expression. "What is she doing at the docks?"

Lurin smiled.

"She examines the supplies travelers bring along for cursed and occultic items."

Valerie shot her an odd look. "Isn't that something only witches do?"

Lurin glanced at her, surprised. "Oh! You don't know? Eilow is a witch now. Mother brought her under her wing."

They all shot her incredulous looks.

Witches were rare, extremely so. A witch couldn't just teach anyone to become a witch. The person had to have a special talent.

Wriggler let out a light sigh as a dark light gleamed through his eyes.

"Witches, eh? Personally, I never got along with them, but this one seems close to the boss. What was their relationship like—if you don't mind me asking?"

Valerie inclined her head slightly to the side in thought, her eyes staring intensely through the table.

"I don't know... I would like to call them friends, but their relationship always seemed strange to me."

Wriggler nodded.

"Alright, do you think sh—he'd be happy to see her? He needs some good vibes or something. Because right now he's quite agitated. I'd say the more friends he meets the better.

"His sword—Ervhen, or whatever its name was isn't helping either. He needs to hand it to me for a while, that weapon keeps him on the edge."

Lurin seemed confused. "A sword? I didn't see him carrying one. I did see a cane though."

Vahn's chuckle rumbled in his chest and he looked at her with a small, amused smirk.

"The weapons of the Lords of Avalon aren't mere artifacts, Seasult Princess."

He informed from his seat opposite her's

"They are divine artifacts. They can't be seen unless revealed by the Chosen themselves."

"Ah! Oh, okay." She noted with a small nervous smile.

"I think the reason he clings unto the weapon is linked to his meeting with the Witch Queen," Wriggler said after wiping some oil off his lips with a napkin.

Lurin turned to him with worry in her eyes.

"What do you mean? Brother and Mother were always close, at least—he was closer to her than I ever was. I see no reason for them to stand opposed to each other."

Wriggler waved dismissively and offered a small placating smile. "Oh, don't worry your little head over this, Princess. Troan rarely does anything rash...unless when he's hungry perhaps."

Everyone looked at him incredulously as if asking.

'Didn't you say he was hungry a moment ago?!"

Her eyes drifted away toward the door, and for a moment, she thought about going to him.

"Brother..."

———

Clack clack!

The sound of boots against grey, hard flooring echoed around a rather sparse and desolate hallway.

There were no servants on this path, no patrols, and even the light streaming through the arched windows felt diminished, as if hindered by an anomalous, dark haze.

The only semblance of life in the hallway was the many sets of full armor propped up on display on both sides; the darkness within their helms scrutinized everything that passed by.

Yet, amid this disturbing atmosphere, Troan walked on unperturbed.

His stomach rumbled and his forehead creased slightly.

'Perhaps it would have been wise to have some food before facing Mother."

However, soon he came to a stop before a door.

It was a plain door without carvings or embellishments. The only thing one could say was odd with the door was its color: black.

A black so intense it seemed soaked in the essence of the Navar itself, standing like a portal to another dimension, so much so that it appeared mildly hypnotic to look upon... like one could just walk in.

Sss—

Suddenly, Troan felt a light gust of wind and then the cold feeling of a sharp blade next to his neck.

"You have grown lax, Troan." A muffled feminine voice rasped behind him.

"How is it that I could sneak up on you when the bulk of what I taught you centered on improving your awareness?"

Troan shivered a little.

"...Unbelievable." Her astonishment was evident in her voice. "Are you scared?"

He turned back slightly, his eyes emitting a soft glow.

Behind him stood a woman clad in a grey assassin's hooded battle cloak. A white neck gaiter concealed her face from the nose down, leaving her foreboding grey eyes visible.

However, this was more than enough for Troan to confirm his guess.

"Master Virgo. It is...unwise to test me in my current frame of mind. Ervhen almost killed you, master."

She frowned perplexed at his statement.

Troan looked downward and her gaze shifted down as well.

The floor around Troan's feet was dusted with frost, and a trail of ice, like painted lightning, jagged and pulsing slightly with energy, went from the base of Troan's heels and past her legs.

Her eyes followed it behind her and up the wall, where she discovered a long protrusion of ice, like a frozen stalagmite aimed diagonally upward at her.

The sharp, pointed tip not less than an inch away from her nape.