The Silent Veil, Concern, and Convoy

Underneath the sprawling canopy of the mystical Camperdown elm, Sena stood ready, anticipation and unease swirling in her chest as she awaited the beginning of her training under Idris, alongside the siblings. 

She was determined, not only to learn how to control her abilities and protect herself, but, in her own quiet way, to protect these newfound companions she was growing fond of with every passing day.

Once they arrived at the vast, well-lit basement, Idris gestured for Kishi and Kanon to follow him. He guided them to a broad space he had carved open, instructing them to focus on hand-to-hand and close-quarters combat. The siblings exchanged a knowing glance before stepping apart to begin. 

Meanwhile, Idris led Sena toward a raised platform on the opposite end. His steps were deliberate. 

"Sena," Idris began calmly, "focus your senses on your surroundings. Try to make yourself aware of anything and everything that encompasses you. From the movements and activities Kishi and Kanon are doing... to my own voice, the air it rides on... even the tiniest stirrings beneath the floor."

His tone deepened as he continued, his feet rooted into the bark-lined platform. "Extend it outward... feel the unseen parts of this below-ground space. The cracks between each root... every squirming, crawling, wriggling creature hidden in the dark. Focus, and sharpen your mind to attune yourself."

Idris wanted to take it a step further to make her understand how he does it, "From the roots, I will it into something I can put an image on. And then they take form." 

He took one slow breath, letting it steady her. "Keep your hands up and ready to defend yourself," he instructed, stepping back and putting more distance between them. "It's coming... I'm coming for you."

Sena nodded, inhaled, and centered herself. She focused her heightened senses on her immediate surroundings.

Then... there. A shift. 

She was able to detect a pulse of movement through the floor, in a split second, the motions of roots willed by Idris. 

She flinched.

A sudden, instinctive burst of force erupted from her, and in a drastic, heavy exertion of unseen pressure, Idris was instantly, forcefully whacked straight against the wall. 

He was glad he could command the immediate roots to his will, which then caught his feet, allowing him to stand firm, horizontally, expertly gripped by the roots.

"Ah! I'm so sorry!" she stammered, shocked at the raw power of her own ability. 

Sena gasped, hands rising in panic as she stepped forward. Her heart was racing, horrified at what she'd done. She hadn't aimed.

She hadn't even tried to strike.

The sheer instinct behind her power was startling. 

Idris, hanging sideways, caught mid-air, slowly slid back down into a standing position, and exhaled. The blow had been heavy. More than that... it hadn't targeted the roots he willed. It had struck at him. 

Her focus had found the source, not the tool. Idris himself acknowledged that the blow emanating from Sena was heavy and impactful. He thought carefully about how he would be able to teach Sena control.

"It's alright, Sena. Don't apologize," he said, brushing away some dust from his shoulder. "Let's try again. This time... I'll conceal myself." 

Without another word, he leaned his body back into the thick root wall behind him. It opened to receive him, swallowing him whole until not a trace remained.

Sena froze.

She now had no idea where Idris would appear from, or where the next attack might shoot out. She widened her awareness again, extending her perception like a ripple through the earth. 

Multiple points stirred. Movement coiled and slithered from all directions. It was hard to tell what was real… but she tried to focus even more and found where Idris was amidst the dark roots. 

She turned sharply, and in that instant, the root wall violently caved inward as if blasted by a colossal, unseen force, creating a small crater that abruptly revealed Idris. His lignum barrier, though cracked, protected him.

Kishi and Kanon, training across the room, halted at once. They flinched toward the impact, eyes wide with disbelief. Kishi dropped the stance he had been holding, and Kanon's hand pressed flat to her chest.

Inside his lignum barrier, Idris stood still.

A trickle of cold sweat formed on Idris's temple. 

This is dangerous, he thought quietly, his expression unreadable. As his senses noticed the small crack in his lignum barrier, like a silent warning, a stark hint at the sheer, uncontrolled force Sena had just unleashed. 

That had not been a stray attack.

That had been pure, untamed force. 

Sena's breathing hitched. Her hands had begun to tremble.

Sena felt daunted by the raw power she possessed. 

"Calm yourself..." Idris's voice came through the barrier as it unraveled, in a firm, even tone. "Focus. Put an image to your ability. Don't push it away... don't just fight."

He waited, giving her time.

"Rather than instinctively unleashing a heavy blow, you need to calmly acknowledge what's coming. The threat. The discomfort. Whether it's pain or an attack. Then choose your defense deliberately."

He shook the debris from his pants and sleeves, brushing himself off before standing firm and facing her once more.

Sena steadied her stance as she closed her eyes.

Sena reimagined her strength. 

Her will to live was so vast and unrelenting.

She recognized the fear that her precious third life could be jeopardized and taken away from her.

But she had to be able to control this intense sense of self-protection. 

She envisioned a veil.

Something protective... not to strike, but to restrain.

A curtain of will that wrapped her attacker and stopped the attack before it began.

Idris stepped forward, emerging from the damaged barrier now embedded in the wall.

He lifted his arm slowly.

This time, he made sure she saw the direction his attack was forming from, clearly and without trickery.

A spear of root started to take shape... but before it could form completely, Sena raised her hand gently.

She visualized the veil.

She imagined it catching him mid-move, soft but absolute.

With a small, quiet wave of her hand, the air around Idris rippled.

He stopped.

His arm froze in place. His chest tensed.

In his unseeing gaze of black and white, he sensed it.

A barrier... no, a fabric. A veil of something impossibly thin yet unbreakably solid. He was wrapped in it... restrained completely.

His jaw relaxed slightly, stunned by how quickly her energy had answered her will.

And for the first time in that basement, Idris said nothing at all.

A half smile formed on his face. 

— — — 

Red, slender nails, long and polished to a glassy sheen, drifted thoughtfully across her lips as the High Matron leaned forward over her desk, the papers arrayed before her like offerings.

Her eyes moved with slow precision over the reports detailing the search for the new diamond bearer, each line scrutinized with a glacial patience.

When she reached the next notice, confirmation of reinforcements dispatched to Aurea Reach, her gaze stilled, sharpening to a cold, cutting focus.

"Oh." Her voice unfurled soft and low, imbued with a disdain she didn't bother to disguise.

"It seems the ungrateful valley is finally tasting the wrath of the Goddess."

Her lips curled into a measured smile, her eyes glinting with a hard, taunting amusement that left no doubt she was savoring every word. 

She rose from her rococo chair, intricately gilded and distressed in stark dark red and gold.

Its tufted backrest depicting a tree heavy with peach-shaped fruit, each one etched in shimmering gold thread to resemble a baby's sleeping face.

The grotesque embroidery seemed almost to watch her as she moved.

The High Matron glided forward with proud, finessed strides. Her long, flowing viscountess dress, dyed a deep, bruised crimson split by a pearl-white panel down the front, whispered across the carpet-laden floors of the long, wide great hallway.

Every step seemed to echo, the hush of her skirts underscoring her quiet authority.

From her private royal grand church in the bottom east wing of the castle, she moved with purpose, chin slightly lifted, her expression a mask of composure edged with something far more severe.

Behind her, four trusted Daughters of the Ash fell seamlessly into a perfect V-formation. Their heavy mantles swayed in unison, each step measured and silent as a ritual.

Their collective presence filled the corridor like a gathering storm, quieting the stationed royal guards. Intimidating, unrelenting, and utterly certain as they advanced in uniform, graceful strides toward their destination: the King's High Office.

The King, Asher Ashriel the Fourth, stood on the balcony outside the King's High Office, overlooking the City of Ashriel, the capital of Azarette. 

The afternoon light bathed the skyline in a pale golden glow, illuminating the countless glass estates and buildings that stretched across the land. Each structure rose no higher than three floors, their pointed roofs crafted of gleaming crystal that caught the sun in fractured rainbows. 

Along their facades, elegant marble reliefs depicted winding vines, flowering branches, and abstract patterns that flowed like quiet rivers across the stone.

Others were adorned with towering sculptures of robed figures bearing votive offerings, and serene faces gazing out over the city as if keeping silent watch.

Beyond them, the vast grand plaza opened like a polished marble stage, ringed by stately trees and centered by a long, narrow reflecting pool that stretched down its heart, its surface catching the afternoon light in a serene, unbroken gleam.

From here, he could see everything.

All of it belonged to him.

All of it depended on him.

He sighed, contemplating the best course of action to aid the people of Aurea Reach. He remembered touring there only once, when he was crowned king at seventeen, three years ago.

Other than the valley's bountiful harvest that reached the capital every four full moons, he knew little about the place.

To hear that devastation had struck a land so unfamiliar to him filled his heart with a slow ache for the souls who had already ascended back to the Goddess's embrace.

He lowered his gaze over the glinting rooftops, the distant plaza, the endless horizon. A quiet stillness settled over him as he lifted his chin slightly, eyes softening.

"For our Mother, who gave the first life, shed the first tear, and let go with grace, we shall all return with a debt of the heart, not in pieces but as one soul. Hear my prayer… Receive the cries of my people, their tears and fears for the lives they have lost, and for those who await their ascent and return to your embrace."

He whispered the words, each syllable drifting into the hushed afternoon air as his eyes closed in solemn reverence.

When at last he opened them, the city shimmered below, unchanged and waiting. He turned and stepped back inside.

The High Matron had welcomed herself without pardon and already waited at the long conference table. 

The King joined her at the head, lowering himself into the prominent throne. With a measured breath, he relaxed his composure, resting his face against the enclosed back of his hand as his elbow propped on the armrest.

"One would expect more for Aurea Reach than the meager reinforcement we dispatched, High Matron."

His voice was calm, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.

His eyes held hers, unyielding and unreadable, his presence imposing. 

There was a quiet reproach in his tone, carrying both a question and a command beneath it.

— — — 

As the reinforcements closed in on Aurea Reach, Chase approached the Crisis Marshal, sharing his carriage.

"Should we take a short trip and pass by the second western lord's estate?" he asked, a subtle inquiry in his tone. 

"We could check what happened to their conveyance gate. I'd like to see for myself why a lord would suddenly fail to follow the capital's guidelines regarding domain gates." Chase paused, a glint in his eye.

"I know this lord was an acquaintance of my late mother. I'm sure he'd recognize my authority and give us a straight answer."

The Crisis Marshal contemplated Chase's suggestion, his expression unyielding. 

"Your Grace," he began, his voice firm but respectful, "I must respectfully decline your kind suggestion. It would not be an experience I look forward to, receiving His Highness the King's wrath if things went awry under my lead, without due diligence and prior notification to the capital." 

Even as a cousin to King Asher Ashriel IV, Chase Ashriel was still a divine royal, and the Marshal was unwilling to compromise any Ashriel royalty while in charge of an expedition.

"Besides, Your Grace," he continued, "by nightfall, we will arrive in Aurea Reach. I can instruct two foot soldiers to check on the second western lord's manor then and assess their situation."

"Hmmm. You're right," Chase agreed, a touch of impatience in his voice.

"Send two now, while we are on the way. I doubt we will need that many foot soldiers anyway." He paused, a dismissive wave of his hand undercutting his next words. 

"But I'm sure we'll need all the nurses to aid the survivors. The earth-wielders and construction workers you have gathered would surely be more than enough to fix the land." His tone clearly undermined the true scale of the devastation.

The Crisis Marshal acknowledged Chase's counsel.

He informed two foot soldiers to divert towards the forked road leading to the last and only western lord's domain. Their mission: to check and gather information on why the conveyance gate hadn't been operational, as reported by the first western lord's butler.

The reinforcement then continued on their path towards Aurea Reach.