Chapter 12: The Thornmaster’s Judgment

The Thornwatch outpost loomed ahead—a cluster of stone and timber fortifications nestled in a clearing, hidden beneath the skeletal arms of ancient pines. Snow coated the rooftops, and the faint flicker of ward-runes pulsed along the perimeter walls.

Aelric felt the weight of watchful eyes long before they passed through the gates.

Soldiers, scouts, and battle-mages patrolled the compound with silent efficiency. Their armor was plain, practical—dark leathers reinforced with rune-etched metal. The silver thorn insignia marked them all.

It wasn't grandeur. It was quiet, organized strength.

As they entered, murmurs followed in their wake.

"That's him.""The boy who burned the Shade camp.""Cursed relic… look at his eyes…"

Aelric ignored the whispers, though his grip on his cloak tightened faintly. His System pulsed in the back of his mind, alert but subdued.

[Social Tension: High][Hostile Intent: Minimal — Observation Phase][System Recommendation: Controlled Diplomacy]

Rhea flanked him silently, eyes sharp. The rescued children were already being tended to by medics—a small victory, but temporary.

At the center of the outpost stood a stone watchtower, its walls carved with ancient protective wards. Inside, atop the upper floor, waited the Thornmaster.

They were escorted quickly—Aelric offering no resistance, though his gaze cataloged every guard, every ward-stone, every potential exit.

The Thornmaster's chamber was simple: a map-covered table, shelves of scrolls, and a tall, broad-shouldered man seated behind the desk, armored in black leather, gray streaking his dark hair. His eyes were sharp, unreadable—used to command.

Thornmaster Valen Dren.

"Aelric Veyne," Dren greeted, his voice low and steady. "Or should I say… the boy dancing with forbidden powers."

Aelric didn't flinch. "The titles don't matter. The truth does."

Dren's expression didn't shift. He gestured to a seat. "Then speak your truth."

Aelric sat, posture relaxed but coiled, every word chosen with care.

"The Covenant grows bolder. Hollowborn are massing beyond the Hollow. I've seen their camps, their rituals." His eyes darkened. "And I took something they didn't want me to have."

Dren's gaze flicked briefly to the Shard beneath Aelric's cloak, then back to his face. "Artifact corruption is dangerous. So are half-truths."

Aelric met his stare evenly. "So is blind obedience."

For a long moment, silence settled over the chamber. The crackle of a nearby hearth was the only sound.

Then Dren leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "You remind me of your father."

The words struck like ice water.

Aelric's jaw tightened, but he held his expression. "My father's dead."

"His ideals aren't," Dren replied. "Nor the enemies he made."

It wasn't a threat. It was a warning—and perhaps… the faintest offer.

Dren studied him another moment, then rose to his feet.

"Your actions have consequences, boy. But so does inaction." He gestured toward the window, where distant forests stretched toward the horizon. "The Hollow isn't the only place rotting. You're not the only one hunting answers."

Aelric stood as well, their eyes locked. "I don't hunt answers, Thornmaster. I hunt power."

Dren's lips curled faintly—not a smile, but not disapproval. "Good. You'll need it."

The meeting was over. But the game had shifted.

Allies? Possibly.Threats? Certainly.A path forward? Undeniably.

And Aelric… wasn't walking it alone anymore.

...

The Thornmaster's words echoed in Aelric's mind as he descended the tower steps:

"Your actions have consequences… But so does inaction."

A veiled warning, and yet… not entirely hostile. Dren was no fool. He saw the world fraying at the edges. And perhaps, like Aelric, he understood that power—even corrupted, even dangerous—was sometimes the only currency that bought survival.

Outside, the outpost bustled with quiet efficiency. Scouts sharpened weapons. Mages maintained barrier wards. The tension was subtle but constant—the practiced readiness of those expecting war… and not entirely sure who the enemy was.

Rhea found him near the sheltered courtyard, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"Well?" she asked simply.

Aelric's lips curved faintly. "They don't trust me."

"Smart of them," Rhea replied without hesitation.

"But," Aelric continued, stepping beside her, "they don't trust Selene either. And they know what's coming." His gaze swept across the soldiers, the scouts, the hardened faces marked by loss and experience. "We aren't their first problem… but we might be their only solution."

Before Rhea could respond, a quiet voice interrupted.

"You speak boldly… for someone dangling off the edge of a blade."

Aelric turned to find a woman leaning casually against a support pillar. Her Thornwatch cloak was present, but her insignia bore additional markings—a double thorn entwined with silver thread. A faction symbol.

She was sharp-featured, with silver-streaked dark hair, and eyes too knowing for comfort.

Seren Kael.

Whispers of her reputation reached even the Hollow—spy, manipulator, liaison to the Thornwatch's internal web of politics.

"Aelric Veyne," Seren greeted smoothly. "Rebellious noble. Artifact thief. Thornmaster's headache." Her eyes sparkled faintly with amusement. "You collect titles quickly."

Aelric offered no smile. "Depends who's writing them down."

Seren chuckled softly, stepping closer. "You've made enemies, boy. But you've made potential allies too. Some within these walls." She gestured subtly toward the barracks, the watchtower. "The Thornwatch isn't united. Old loyalties, hidden grudges… the usual mess of frightened humans pretending they still control the board."

Aelric met her gaze evenly. "And where do you stand, Kael?"

"On the winning side," Seren replied simply. "Eventually."

Rhea's hand hovered near her dagger, but Aelric stilled her with a look. They couldn't afford blunt hostility—not yet.

"Then perhaps we should talk," Aelric said, voice cool but calculated. "You don't trust me. I don't trust you. But the world's cracking, and the gods aren't listening."

Seren smiled, sharp and knowing. "Careful, boy. That kind of thinking makes heroes… or corpses."

She slipped away into the crowd, leaving only questions and quiet promises behind.

Aelric watched her go, then turned to Rhea.

"Stay close," he said. "The real battles… they're starting now."

And this time, the battlefield wasn't swords and spells.

It was whispers. Alliances. Betrayals.

And Aelric Veyne intended to master them all.