chapter 29: A noble endeavour

Birds soared above the treetops, cutting arcs through the pale sky. Their songs drifted down into the clearing, soft and bright. The scent of pine and moss hung thick in the morning air.

Gaia sat at the entrance ready, holding Fang's head on her lap.

As the flow of moss-scented air reached her nose, the bush in front of her parted to show Isgram.

By the time he reached the cave clearing, the first light of morning was starting to bleed through the canopy. A cool mist curled around the garden stones and the forge. One of the shadow rabbits perked up at his scent and darted between the herbs, tail flicking.

Gaia was exactly where he had left her. Still sitting by Fang's side. She hadn't moved, not really. Her cloak was damp with dew, and her hair clung to her temple. Her hand rested lightly on Fang's chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath like it was the only rhythm that mattered.

Isgram entered the cave, his boots muddy and his cloak nearing the end of it's career.

"You're back," she said without looking.

"Of course I am."

He walked past the cold firepit, dropped his travel pouch near the stone bench, and crouched to rinse his hands in the basin she had conjured from earth.

No one spoke for a long minute.

Then Gaia asked, "Did you find who sent them?"

Isgram dried his fingers on his cloak and sat across from her. Not too close. Not too far.

"Yeah. Some noble in Whitemoor," he said, voice flat. "He's not from the town. Just rents land, throws money around. Keeps the mayor on a leash. It's not an official bounty through the kingdom. This is personal. Funded in private."

Gaia finally looked at him. Her face was calm, but her eyes were not.

"Why?"

Isgram gave a dry snort. "No idea. Could be anything. Maybe he lost someone to the chosen. Maybe he's terrified of what we are. Maybe he just saw a way to play hero for the court. Doesn't matter. He made it personal, so I will too."

Gaia looked away again. Her hand tensed slightly over Fang's chest.

"Are you going to kill him?"

"Yes," Isgram said. No hesitation.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the cave wall. "Good."

That caught him off guard.

"Thought you'd argue."

"I don't see the point," she said. "You'll do it anyway. You already decided. And I… I'm tired of pretending mercy buys peace."

That sat between them for a while.

Eventually, Gaia broke the silence again. "What happens after?"

Isgram raised an eyebrow. "After I kill him?"

"Yes. After that. You kill him, fine. But we're still in the woods. Fang's still unconscious. There are still soldiers and mercenaries looking for pouches of gold. You're going to murder every noble who looks our way?"

"No," Isgram said. "Just the ones who buy our heads."

She didn't smile. But she didn't argue either.

"I need you to think bigger than revenge," she said. "You said you're with us. Fine. But Fang's dream is bigger, and frankly? I dream of it too. You understand what that means, right?"

Isgram's gaze flicked toward Fang. The dark scar across his shoulder was dimmer now, not pulsing as violently. Still unnatural and covered by mana.

"Yeah," he said. "It means we can't wait for another ambush. We need to move first."

"Exactly."

Gaia pushed herself up and walked to the edge of the forge they had started. She ran her hand along the stone.

"We need more than a forge and a garden. We need allies. After seeing the traps fail so miserably, I couldn't stop thinking about how arrogant I have become. Being safe is a memory I have long forgotten ever since I left Earth."

Isgram stood as well, arms crossed, cloak shifting in the wind. "We'll need more than allies. We'll need leverage."

She looked back at him, questioning, raising her eyebrows in silence.

"I interrogated that merchant, and he thought I was some villain from a book.

Kid pissed himself.

And I didn't have to kill him to get what I needed," Isgram said.

"But it made me realize—we don't need to fight everyone. We need to make them afraid of what happens if they cross us. Just enough fear to keep the vultures circling elsewhere."

Gaia nodded slowly. "Fear's a good shield. But it can't be the foundation."

Isgram's eyes lit with a flicker of heat. "That's what Fang is for. He's the soul of this place. You and I—we're the flame and the stone. We hold the line."

Gaia stared at him, long and hard.

And then, finally, a smile. Not gentle. But real.

"You're a bastard, Isgram," she said. "But you're our bastard."

He laughed, short and tired. "Took you long enough to admit it."

They sat in silence for a moment longer.

Then Gaia's voice turned quiet.

"I thought he was going to die."

Isgram didn't respond.

She looked at Fang again. "If that mana stone hadn't triggered… if we hadn't been here..."

"I know."

She exhaled shakily. "I don't want to go through that again."

"You won't," Isgram said. "Because next time, we'll be ready."

He stepped past her and knelt beside Fang, brushing some ash off the younger mage's shoulder.

"Let him rest. We've got work to do."

But before he could get up, he felt her arms wrapping around his chest from behind.

"Please don't leave right now. I need this."

Isgram stayed quiet, and his palm found its place on her hand.

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Whitemoor

The scent of old parchment and pipe smoke clung to the mayor's office. A single narrow window cut the darkness, casting a shaft of morning light across the cluttered desk. Mayor Nakamura stood by it, his back straight despite the weight of the years.

The door creaked open without a knock.

"Close it behind you," Nakamura said, with a tired voice prepared to be even more tired.

Ferdinand of House Gorm swept in, silk boots clicking on the floor, his cloak still wet from the ride. He did not close the door.

Nakamura turned.

Ferdinand was already pulling off his gloves. "Your guards are lax."

"They know better than to stop a man who throws coin like you do."

Ferdinand smiled tightly. "Good. Then they'll know why I'm here."

"I do," Nakamura said. He walked to the decanter by the hearth and poured himself a drink, offering none to his guest.

Ferdinand watched with hawkish eyes. He looked thinner than last month—cheekbones sharper, hands twitchier. Paranoia did not wear well on him, but it was clearly settling in for a long stay.

"They're still alive," he said, stepping closer to the desk. "Those... things in the forest. One of my men saw the aftermath. Burned bodies. Black magic. You let them live."

Nakamura sipped his drink. "I let no such thing. I sent hunters, like you asked."

Ferdinand's voice rose. "And they failed. Again."

"They failed because they were fools with more courage than skill. You pay for amateurs, you get amateur results."

Said the mayor without casting a glance at the man held by fear in front of him.

"Then you send better."

"Then you pay better."

Nakamura's jaw tightened. "You think I have soldiers to spare? Whitemoor's a border town, not a private army. The kingdom's eyes are on the eastern front. I'm keeping peace here with silver-tongued merchants and burned-out veterans."

Ferdinand leaned over the desk. "This isn't about peace. It's about rot. They're festering out there. Building something. That fire-mage dwarf alone could level a village. And that girl—she's demonspawn. You think this ends with just the three of them? It never does. They always attract more. Rats gather where the corpses lie."

Nakamura's fingers twitched around the glass.

Ferdinand pressed on. "You fought the dwarves, didn't you? You know what happens when we wait."

That struck a nerve. One that caused the mana in the room flare up, and the temperature dropped significantly. But before the noble could freeze in place, he saw the mage in front of him regain his calmness.

"I do," Nakamura said, voice low. "I watched comrades melt alive in iron shells while nobles debated battle lines. Don't lecture me about waiting."

"Then act. Quietly. No banners, no writs. Send word to the local guilds. Pay double if needed. Make the bounty sweeter."

"You want me to fund this circus now?"

"I'll cover it," Ferdinand said quickly. "Double again if they're brought back dead. Especially the dark-haired one. He's the leader."

Nakamura stared at the map on his desk. The forest to the west looked small in ink, but he knew its real scale. Knew what it swallowed.

"This is the last time," he said finally. "If they survive this one, I'm done. You want them dead after that, do it yourself."

Ferdinand smiled, sharp and small.

"Agreed."

He turned to leave, but Nakamura's voice stopped him.

"You're not afraid they'll kill you too?"

"Fear keeps me smart," Ferdinand muttered.

He turned to leave, but paused at the door. His fingers lingered on the handle a second too long.

A faint creak in the hallway made him flinch.

He didn't turn around—just exhaled through his nose, sharp and bitter—and stepped out quickly, almost urgently.

Nakamura watched the door close behind him, lips curling into the faintest smirk.

Nakamura said as he watched the door close, "Fuck, I am getting old for this."

He took another swig of his bourbon and kept to his drink as he stared through the window at the flock of birds crossing the sky.

Nakamura once saw the forces of the dwarven earth mages, among them was a chosen one.

The race wars built more than just fear in their hearts.

You mustn't play with fire, his fire always told him.

And the house of Gorm was willing to dive into the flames.