Sole Survivor of a Generation

Valeryon sat alone in the Music Hall, her fingers hovering above the strings of the grand harp. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of polished wood, and the fading daylight filtered through the tall, arched windows, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor. A soft, dusky glow filled the space, bathing everything in a warm, muted light.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting her fingers glide over the strings. The first note rang out, a mournful, resonant sound that lingered in the quiet hall. One by one, more notes followed, cascading into a melancholic melody.

Gradually, the music shifted, giving way to a brighter, livelier tune. Her fingers moved with increasing confidence, the green glow at her fingertips intensified, casting a soft light as she played. Her breathing steadied, and with each note, the tension in her chest began to ease. She exhaled softly, a sigh of relief as the worries that had clung to her slowly faded.

A familiar fluttering sound broke the spell. Valeryon opened her eyes to see a shimmering envelope with delicate, holographic wings drifting toward her. It hovered momentarily before settling in her open palm. The red seal marked it as an official delivery from the Archipelago's Post Office, a guarantee that it had been inspected and verified as safe.

Valeryon carefully broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The words, penned in elegant, flowing script, read:

Your Highness, Crown Princess Valeryon the Second,

We wish to extend our heartfelt condolences on the loss of our dearest Daphne. Her passing has left a deep void in all our lives, and we share in your grief during this difficult time. Please know that our thoughts are with you.

We also regret the delay in delivering your staff. It is now prepared and ready for use, and we trust it will serve you well.

With deepest respect and sympathy,

Eilie Lin Adhe and Sala Silvers

P.S. We kindly remind you to exercise caution when practicing magic with the staff for the first time. Avoid proximity to anything you may later regret losing.

Valeryon turned the letter over, her eyes catching on two glowing runes etched into the parchment. She reached for the first, and as her fingers brushed against it, they phased through the surface. Reaching in, her hand felt the weight of a staff settle into her grasp, and she smoothly drew it out.

The staff towered over her thirteen-year-old frame, standing nearly two meters tall. Its shaft, sculpted from pure diamond, shimmered in the dim light. Intricately carved thorny vines spiralled up its length, and roses blossomed from them, their petals so detailed that Valeryon half-expected to feel their softness beneath her fingertips. At the top, a large, spherical diamond crowned the staff, refracting the light into rainbow hues that danced across the room.

Her gaze shifted to the second rune. She reached in and pulled out a small envelope. Inside were several memory cards from her time at Starlit Staffworks. She slid one out and watched as a brief five-second snapshot of her selecting materials for the staff. In the background, two silver-haired women stood, one of whom caught Valeryon's attention. Her gaze was filled with a deep affection and pride—a look etched into so many of Valeryon's childhood memories in this world which had grown unfamiliar since their relationship had grown distant.

A tightness formed in her chest as she ran her thumb over the image, a strange and unnameable emotion swelling within her, making her feel lightheaded. She swallowed hard, forcing the feeling down and taking a slow, steadying breath.

Valeryon carefully slid the memory card back into the envelope and returned both the staff and envelope to their storage runes. She folded the letter neatly and placed it back into its envelope.

Rising from her seat, Valeryon reflected on the advice she'd received about practicing magic with caution. Her mind wandered to a secluded courtyard she and Laurel had discovered years ago during one of their explorations. Hidden on the far edge of the castle grounds, the courtyard was walled in and overtaken by nature. Its isolation and disrepair made it the ideal place to practice without risking damage to anything important.

As Valeryon left the Music Hall, she found Laurel waiting just outside, leaning casually against his staff. The staff, forged from draconic steel, gleamed with a deep purple sheen, its surface intricately carved to resemble dragon scales. At its top sat a diamond focus—nearly identical to hers—that glowed faintly in the dimming light, emitting a soft, resonant hum that vibrated in sync with her own—the split-part resonance.

Laurel's complexion, though still burdened with dark circles from sleepless nights, had a healthier tint than she had seen in a while. A grin spread across his face, revealing deep dimples. "Courtyard?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied.

Laurel's grin grew wider. "Great, let's go."

As they moved through the winding corridors of the castle, the cool evening air settled around them, carrying the scent of blooms and the sounds of birds and cicadas beginning their evening song. Wall-mounted sconces cast warm pools of light, their glow mingling with the fading dusk and stretching long shadows across the polished stone floors.

As Valeryon and Laurel moved through the passageways, their conversation about the day's activities turning toward Valeryon's recent decision to appoint Laurel's youngest aunt, Elora, as the next Chamberlain.

"I get that you have your reasons, Val," Laurel began, his tone cautious. "But Aunt Elora? For as long as I've known her, she's barely managed to string two words together when I'm around, and when she does, she looks like she's about to pass out. Honestly, I thought you'd pick Aunt Evelina or even Uncle Silas—anyone except her, really."

Valeryon paused, recalling her first meeting with Elora. The young woman had been visibly anxious, her eyes flicking nervously around the room, hands twisting in her lap. She could hardly hold Valeryon's gaze for more than a fleeting moment. It was true that Elora's social anxiety was a concern, but Valeryon saw it as a minor flaw compared to her remarkable intellect and attention to detail.

However, social competence was crucial for a Chamberlain. To address this, Valeryon had enlisted Ophelia to place Elora in an intensive training program under Governess Sachar, designed to elevate her professional conduct to the required standard.

The results had been promising. In addition to her lessons, Elora shadowed Ophelia daily, absorbing the nuances of the role she would soon assume. Valeryon received nightly reports from both Governess Sachar and Ophelia, and each painted a picture of steady progress. Ophelia even noted that, had she not known Elora's history, she would have assumed the young woman had been groomed for this role her entire life. These updates only solidified Valeryon's confidence in her choice, despite the mounting criticism she faced.

Almost daily, letters arrived from House Vesalius questioning Valeryon's judgment. They cited Elora's youth and lack of experience as evidence of her unsuitability for such a critical role. Valeryon didn't bother responding. If these were legitimate concerns, why had Elora—and others like her—been included in the list of vetted candidates they had sent her?

Rather than respond, she used their letters as kindling for her fireplace, watching as the parchment blackened and crumbled in the flames.

Did House Vesalius believe Valeryon's youth made her decisions mere suggestions or her authority fragile?

Laurel, however, wasn't challenging her. His tone was curious, not critical. He was genuinely trying to reconcile his perception of his aunt with Valeryon's confidence in her. He didn't have the insight Valeryon did—nor could he see the circumstances that had led her to choose Elora. Yet, Valeryon struggled to put her reasoning into words. A simple, "Your aunt is a genius," felt insufficient.

Only time would reveal whether Valeryon's decision was the right one.

As they approached the entrance of the courtyard, Valeryon gestured for Laurel to go ahead. She paused at the threshold, watching as he stepped into the centre of the overgrown space.

The courtyard, once a sanctuary of beauty, had long fallen into decay. Crumbling stone pillars, remnants of its grand architecture, lay scattered across the pathways, now tangled with wild, overgrown vegetation. Vines crept up the walls, suffocating the intricate carvings and obscuring the stonework that hinted at the courtyard's past splendour. The ground, cracked and uneven, was blanketed with moss and creeping ivy, their lush green contrasting with the weathered grey stone.

Laurel's expression remained focused as he spun his staff, the polished metal whistling through the air in fluid, precise arcs. With a swift motion, he swung it wide, unleashing a massive wave of flames that roared to life. The fire surged, illuminating the courtyard in a fierce blaze, the heat so intense that Valeryon's robes barely shielded her from the searing onslaught. For a moment, memories from the fifth Death Challenge—the Challenge of Fire Hall—flooded her mind. She could almost feel the flames licking at her skin, the agony as they seared through flesh and nerves.

Laurel's eyes widened seeing the flames spiral beyond his control. He quickly dispelled the magic, extinguishing the fire just before it could reach her. Panting heavily, he rushed to Valeryon's side, his features tight with fear.

"Val, are you okay? I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with panic.

Valeryon, drenched in sweat but otherwise unharmed, nodded. "I am fine."

Laurel let out a long sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as he leaned against her. "I only meant to create a small flame, but it looks like they weren't exaggerating when they said this staff amplifies magic. Thank the stars you're not hurt." He laughed, a mix of relief and lingering disbelief.

Valeryon's lips twitched slightly. "It seems so." She then tilted her head thoughtfully. "I think I'd like to give it a try now."

Laurel blinked, taken aback. "What? Val, that's—are you sure? That flame nearly burned you. What if—"

"I won't use offensive magic," she assured him. "I just want to test something."

Laurel hesitated, his concern evident, but he eventually stepped back, giving her space.

She opened the envelope in her hands to pull out the staff from the storage rune, Laurel let out a low whistle as he took in its appearance for the first time.

"Now, that's stunning," he murmured.

Valeryon rarely accessed the Florian side of her heritage, preferring to hone the abilities rooted in her Valeryon bloodline. However, she had learned what she could of Florian magic through her own research, relying on the limited data and conjecture available about the reclusive clan's powers on the Inter-Galactic Origin Network.

Taking a deep breath, she extended her hand, and the entirety of her staff glowed with a soft, pink light. A gentle pink wave of magic radiated from her, spreading across the courtyard. Slowly, vibrant plants and trees sprouted from the cracked earth, emerging from decayed remnants buried beneath long ago. Leaves unfurled, and flowers bloomed, their colours vivid against the grey stone ruins. The arrangement was chaotic, a testament to her lack of gardening acuity, but it achieved its purpose. Valeryon felt a slight drain on her energy, though it was far less than she anticipated. In the past, such a feat would have left her bedridden for days, but now, she barely felt a flicker of fatigue.

Laurel, who had been watching intently, broke into enthusiastic applause. "Val, that was incredible! You're amazing!"

Valeryon cleared her throat, fighting the heat creeping up her face. "It's just basic magic."

Laurel's grin only widened. "If that's basic for you, I can't imagine what you consider advanced."

Before she could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the courtyard's cobbled paths. Elora and Ophelia appeared, flanked by a squad of knights clad in gleaming armour, their polished helmets reflecting the last light of the day. Elora's shoulders relaxed as she exhaled in visible relief. "Your Highness, Nephew, you're safe."

Valeryon's eyes narrowed, sensing the tension in the air. "What's going on?"

Ophelia stepped forward, her expression serious, her brows furrowed. "There was a disturbance in the wards, Your Highness. We suspected intruders and came to investigate."

Laurel rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Sorry about that. It was probably my fault."

Ophelia's frown deepened, her eyes scrutinising. "And what exactly were you doing that triggered the wards so intensely?"

Laurel began explaining, his tone light as he tried to diffuse the situation. Eventually, he turned to Elora with a curious look. As he finished, he turned to Elora with a curious look. "Aunt Elora, where's your staff? Did you really think it was a good idea to investigate a possible break-in unarmed?"

Elora's face paled for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure, a testament to her training under Governess Sachar. She managed a polite smile, lifting her sleeve to reveal a faintly glowing runic tattoo etched into her skin. "I have a friend—a skilled tattoo artist who specialises in magical runes. This one allows me to summon and store my staff when needed." With a graceful flick of her wrist, the rune brightened, and a staff materialised in her hand, only to vanish again with another quick movement. "It's convenient for keeping my hands free." She paused before adding, "If you're interested, I could invite him. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to craft one for you."

Valeryon's interest was piqued, but she hesitated. Her passive healing ability might reject foreign markings or substances, making the rune useless for her.

"Val, what do you think about tattoos?" Laurel asked, glancing sideways at her, a light flush creeping over his cheeks. "Do you like them on other people, or…?"

Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Valeryon took a moment to process his words. After a beat, she replied in what she hoped would sound reassuring. "I think they're fine. Even if it doesn't look great, it serves a purpose beyond aesthetics."

Laurel's expression flickered through several emotions before he let out a dramatic sigh, covering his face with his hands. Elora's lips twitched, and Valeryon could have sworn she heard a stifled laugh before Elora masked it with a cough.

Valeryon pressed her lips together. She had clearly missed something again—some unspoken cue. Embarrassed but unwilling to ask, she let it go, sensing that no one was eager to enlighten her.

Regardless, Elora took their interest in the tattoo seriously, and promptly arranged for her friend to come to the castle that very evening.

Less than an hour later, Elora's friend arrived. They organised the meeting in one of the smaller lounges, furnished with plush seating and warm lighting to create a comfortable atmosphere for the procedure.

The man was an eccentric figure, draped flowing robes of deep indigo, adorned with mystical symbols and tiny charms that jingled softly with every movement. His long, braided hair, interwoven with small trinkets and beads, framed his angular face, and his light brown eyes sparkled with excitement—one eye secured behind a gold monocle that caught the last rays of the setting sun. He bowed dramatically, a grin on his face. "Greetings, Your Highness, Heir Vesalius. I am Arion. What an unexpected honour it is to offer my humble services to such esteemed clients!"

Setting down his bag, he revealed a collection of enchanted tools and scrolls, each meticulously marked with intricate runes that pulsed faintly with magic. Unfurling a scroll, Arion began to explain his craft with enthusiasm, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. "Runes, when etched along key meridian points of the body, maximise their effectiveness. For example, the wrists are ideal for summoning spells, the collarbone for defensive wards, and the spine for enhancing physical abilities like speed and strength." He paused, his eyes twinkling. "But today, I understand you are interested in the staff-holstering rune, correct? Who would like to go first—Your Highness, or Heir Vesalius?"

Laurel stepped forward first and took the seat on the plush couch Arion had gestured toward, rolling up his sleeve to expose his forearm. Arion's face lit up, and he set to work with precision. As the enchanted needle touched Laurel's skin, it released a faint hum, resonating with the energy in the room. The rune glowed a bright blue as Arion meticulously etched it, the magical ink seeping into Laurel's skin and sending shimmering sparks along his arm. The light danced along the rune, leaving a glowing trail as it melded into his flesh. Laurel winced, feeling the heat and the slight sting, but he remained still, eyes fixed on the tattoo as it shifted and settled, the glow dimming to a faint blue hue.

With Laurel's approval, Arion added a secondary rune at the base of his staff, binding it to the storage rune. "This will ensure that even if you forget to place it in the holster, you can still summon your staff from anywhere," he explained. As he completed the last stroke, the staff pulsed in response.

Laurel grinned, watching as it disappeared and reappeared in his hand with a mere thought. "It's incredible," he murmured, flexing his fingers around the staff only to return it again into the holster rune.

Next, it was Valeryon's turn. Taking her seat, she extended the arm bare of her Celestial Receiver. She watched Arion intently, admiring the precision and mastery required for the procedure. As he began to work, the same bright blue glow enveloped her skin, a subtle hum of energy coursing through her veins. Arion worked meticulously, his hands steady as the rune gradually bound itself to her. A warm sensation spread through her arm as the magic integrated with her own energy, settling into her skin as if it had always belonged there.

Her initial concerns faded away as she sensed her passive healing ability welcoming the rune seamlessly. It felt as if her body recognised the tattoo as neither invasion nor injury, but as a natural extension of herself.

Once Arion had completed the necessary procedures and gathered his enchanted tools, he bowed respectfully before taking his leave, pocketing the generous payment Valeryon had arranged for his prompt in-person services. Left with much to ponder, Valeryon summoned the Knight Commander and requested Elora and Ophelia to join her in her study for an urgent meeting.

Valeryon had recently decided to select a study following Ophelia's suggestion, a move prompted by her increasing responsibilities after the passing of Lady Daphne. In the vast expanse of the castle, she had several options for her study, but the proximity of her chosen room to the Chamberlain's Office had been a decisive factor in her choice. This arrangement would facilitate more efficient coordination, allowing her to manage her duties with greater ease.

The decor of the study suggested it had once belonged to a royal heir from the time of Queen Vera Valeryon—or perhaps even to Queen Vera herself. Ornate shelves lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes and meticulously detailed maps that depicted the vast territories of the Valeryon Archipelago, the expansive mainland of Fiore, and neighbouring nations such as Ebren and Simran. Each map bore strategic annotations, hinting at the far-reaching ambitions of its past occupant. This only reinforced Valeryon's growing conspiracy theory that Queen Vera had been a master tactician, harbouring clandestine plans for territorial expansion.

Despite his visible exhaustion, Laurel insisted on accompanying them, and as usual, Valeryon found herself unable to refuse his request. Now, he lay asleep on a nearby leather couch, his usually lively features softened in slumber. His chest rose and fell steadily, the rhythm a comforting presence in the otherwise tense atmosphere. Valeryon stole a brief glance at him, finding reassurance in his calm demeanour before shifting her focus back to the task at hand.

She had invited three key figures for this discussion: Heiress Elora Vesalius, Ophelia, and Knight Commander Marcellus. As she reviewed the rune descriptions Arion had left behind, detailing various types and their applications, she turned her attention to Elora. "Heiress Elora, tell me more about these rune tattoos. Have they been tested for combat effectiveness? How reliable are they in high-stress scenarios?"

Elora straightened, her expression serious. "The runes are a recent innovation, Your Highness," she began, her voice steady. "They've undergone rigorous testing by Fiore's Department of Arcane Phenomena over the last five years and have received the highest certification—the Gold Veracity Seal. Regardless of their intended function, these runes are designed to endure both physical and magical stress. In controlled trials, they have proven highly effective even under extreme conditions. I attended some of these trials as an observer, thanks to my friendship with Arion, and can confirm that the runes performed exactly as specified, with no adverse side effects."

Valeryon nodded thoughtfully. "So, they truly have the potential to enhance our defensive capabilities or augment physical strength. They could be a valuable addition to our forces." She then shifted her attention to Knight Commander Marcellus. "What are your thoughts, Commander?"

Marcellus, a tall and imposing figure with a chiseled jawline and piercing steel-grey eyes, leaned forward to inspect the rune descriptions laid out on the table. His armour, adorned with the emblem of the Valeryon clan, glinted under the candlelight. "The concept is promising, Your Highness. If these runes work as intended, it could revolutionise our combat. The ability to summon weapons instantly or enhance physical abilities would provide a crucial advantage in battle, especially against magically resistant enemies like the lycanthropes." He paused, his tone cautious. "However, I advise a careful integration phase. Our knights will need time to adapt, ensuring they can use the runes effectively without compromising their combat readiness or safety."

Elora took a deep breath and nodded. "I agree. Perhaps we could start by deploying a small task force to field-test these runes. A limited rollout would allow us to gather data and refine our approach. If successful, we could expand their use to other units."

Valeryon considered their suggestions as she dipped her quill in ink and began outlining the specifics of the plan. The quill moved swiftly across the parchment as she detailed the implementation steps, training regimens, and phased testing approach. Once she completed the document, she dripped wax onto the paper, reached for the seal, and prepared to imprint her insignia while the wax was still warm.

Just as she was about to press her seal into the molten wax, a knock echoed through the study's grand double doors. The doors swung open, and a knight stepped inside, bowing deeply. "Your Highness, Heir Vesalius, the Enforcers have arrived. They request an audience regarding the recent werewolf attack in Asua."

Valeryon's lips thinned as she carefully pressed her seal, watching as the wax solidified into the mark of the Valeryon sigil—a phoenix clutching a branch of asphodel. With a soft sigh, she turned her gaze to Laurel, who had stirred from his previous slumber on the couch. His earlier drowsiness had vanished, replaced by an alertness as he stared warily at the doors.

Rolling up the document, Valeryon handed it to Elora and concluded the meeting.

The Knight Commander, Elora, and Ophelia bowed in unison before making their exit. Valeryon watched the doors close behind them before turning her attention back to the knight standing at the threshold, awaiting her response.

"Bring them in," she commanded.

In this world, Enforcers serve as the primary law enforcement agency, responsible for overseeing the enforcement of laws and maintaining order. Within this organisation exists a specialised group known as the Investigative Enforcers, or simply Investigators. These individuals operate much like detectives, dedicated to uncovering the truth behind crimes. Their main responsibility is to gather evidence, interview witnesses, and solve complex cases.

The brutal werewolf attack in Asua, prompted the Archipelago's Enforcers to mobilise and investigate the incident as mandated by protocol.

This decision, however, ignited significant resistance among the residents of the Mainland. Many viewed such behaviour as an overreach of its authority, the Archipelago's efforts to extend its influence beyond its region.

However, the Accords—a treaty signed by Chancellor Alphonso Bianchi, the first leader of magical Fiore, and Queen Vera Valeryon—the Archipelago retained jurisdiction over its citizens regardless of location. This agreement stipulates that in matters concerning its own citizens, the laws of the Archipelago take precedence over those of Fiore. As a result, the Archipelago's Enforcers were legally permitted to operate within the Mainland, a reality that the Mainland's residents were forced to accept after their own Enforcers and the Chancellor confirmed the legitimacy of the Archipelago's actions.

Currently, the werewolves responsible for the recent attacks are detained by the Archipelago's Enforcer Department, specifically within the Lycan Unit. This specialised team comprises Lycans, humans who have genetically evolved the ability to transform into wolves at will while maintaining their rationality. They are the only group equipped to suppress, restrain, and, if necessary, eliminate transformed werewolves.

Understanding the distinction between Lycans and lycanthropes is essential for navigating the complexities of magical society. Lycans are a distinct race of humans who inherit their transformative abilities through genetics. This genetic legacy grants them complete control over their transformations, enabling them to shift seamlessly between human and wolf forms without succumbing to the primal urges that often accompany such changes.

In stark contrast, werewolves are tragic victims of a virulent curse transmitted through the bite of another werewolf. Those unfortunate enough survive such an attack undergo a painful transformation, becoming grotesque caricatures of true Lycans. Cursed to transform primarily during the full moon, these individuals are driven by an insatiable bloodlust and an unquenchable hunger for flesh. This bloodlust is not merely a consequence of their new form; it consumes their very essence, compelling them to commit heinous acts against their will.

While transformations in werewolves typically occur during the full moon, they can also happen outside this period, albeit rarely. These irregular transformations add an element of unpredictability, making werewolves even more dangerous within magical society. Since no one has yet discovered the triggers for these unexpected changes, the threat they pose remains a constant source of tension and fear.

Valeryon settled onto the leather couch beside Laurel, adjusting her iridescent black veil so it draped neatly across her shoulders. Laurel, seated next to her, seemed relaxed at first glance, but Valeryon could sense the subtle tension in his posture. His shoulder-length snow-white hair was tied loosely back, with a few strands framing his face. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the armrest, betraying his inner restlessness.

Across from them, the Investigators sat ready with quills poised, observing them closely. The lead Investigator, a tall woman with neatly tied blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, leaned forward. "You were present during the attack. Can you describe any significant events leading up to it? What happened before the werewolves appeared?"

Laurel crossed one leg over the other, his lavender eyes flicking briefly to Valeryon before focusing on the Investigator. "The pastries," he said casually.

"The pastries?" echoed the other Investigator, a shorter man with a shrewd expression. "What about them?"

Laurel sighed. "The sugar on them wasn't sugar. It was Sweet Crystals."

A heavy silence followed, and Valeryon felt her pulse quicken.

Sweet Crystals—an illegal and highly addictive substance—was notorious for its compounding toxicity. Each dose was a step closer to a long drawn out agonising death.

"Where were these pastries served?" the lead Investigator pressed, her eyes narrowing.

"At Vesperia Terminal in Viré," Laurel replied calmly. "They were part of the refreshments provided."

The shorter Investigator's quill scratched across his notepad. "And how did you recognise it?"

Laurel tapped his nose with a faint smile. "Training. As a member of House Vesalius and future Aide to the Crown Princess, I'm trained to detect substances that could pose a danger to Her Highness. Sweet Crystals have a distinct scent."

Valeryon's mind raced, recalling Laurel's behaviour at the Terminal lounge. She had dismissed his hesitation around the food, even offering him some herself, unaware of the threat. Though only the pastries were tainted, she felt a surge of frustration at her carelessness. Laurel didn't possess her ability to revive—one mistake, and it could have been the end for him in this world.

Laurel continued, "I informed the knights, and they alerted Knight Commander Marcellus. That's why there were additional knights when we arrived in Asua. My mother, Lady Daphne, was with them, standing in for the healer-knights quarantined due to the snuffle fever outbreak." He scoffed lightly. "I think my mother just couldn't stand idle knowing the danger Her Highness and I might face."

The lead Investigator nodded. "And this communication took place when?"

"Right before we left Vesperia Terminal," Laurel explained. "The knights were already preparing while we boarded."

Valeryon felt a knot tighten in her stomach. So much had been set in motion without her noticing. How had Laurel managed to communicate so discreetly without her noticing when he had been by her side the entire time? Had she truly missed such a significant exchange?

"Anything else?" the Investigator asked.

"When we were heading back to the Nexus Gate in Asua after our shopping, I suspect we were caught inside a confounding magical ward," Laurel said, lowering his voice. "It was subtle, but once inside its radius, I realised that no matter how far we walked, we weren't making any progress."

Valeryon vaguely remembered the sensation of not getting anywhere, but she hadn't realised it was due to magic. The ward was cleverly designed to be undetectable unless one knew exactly what to look for—a cunning and insidious trap.

The Investigators exchanged glances. The taller one jotted something down, the quill's scratching the only sound in the room. "A magical ward?"

"Yes," Laurel confirmed. "It also blocked sound from outside its perimeter. By the time I heard the werewolves, they were already upon us. We had no choice but to confront them directly."

The shorter Investigator leaned forward, eyes alight with interest. "We discovered traces of a rune circle at the scene—hastily erased, but still partially intact. Your theory may hold merit. We will investigate this matter further, Heir Vesalius."

Laurel's expression turned serious. "The Sweet Crystals, the ward, the werewolves transforming on a moonless night—it was coordinated. This was a deliberate attempt to harm Her Highness. The Oath of Fealty prevents any resident from plotting such an attack. For someone to know our itinerary so precisely… Outsiders must have infiltrated the Archipelago, possibly posing as residents and even securing positions among the castle staff."

Valeryon's hands clenched as the implications settled in. The Oath of Fealty—a powerful magical vow binding the Archipelago's citizens—would neutralise anyone with malicious intent against herself as a member of the royal family. For someone to bypass such security and orchestrate a scheme of this complexity…

They didn't just want her dead; they wanted her to suffer. The use of Sweet Crystals was proof of that.

Only one family had both the motive and the means to execute such an elaborate attack.

For centuries, they had upheld a blood feud against the Valeryon lineage, constantly seeking to undermine their authority and destroy their legacy. Despite their transgressions, they had evaded justice through influence and cunning, always managing to keep their hands clean.

The House of Asztalos.