Hemlock's final words hung in the air, heavy and cold as a tombstone. The hearts of men are treacherous things.
The statement resonated with a grim finality, and in the echoing silence, Alph's own words came back to him. 'What could have possibly caused such a situation? Was there no warning? No clues?'
He winced internally. The questions had been sharp, impersonal, a detached demand for facts. He had seen a puzzle, a historical event to be dissected, and had completely disregarded the person who had survived it. The girl who had been only a child, who had run through the chaos and fear.
He inwardly cursed the old, ingrained habit of prying for information, of treating every conversation like an interrogation to be won. He looked over at Elara. She was staring into the fire, her shoulders still slumped, her expression a fragile mask trying to contain an old, deep sorrow. He had added to her burden, prodding at a wound that had never truly healed.
He reached out, his hand hesitating for a moment before he gently placed it on her arm.
"Hey, Elara." His voice was soft, dropping its earlier analytical edge. "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have said it like that."
Elara looked up, her eyes wide with surprise. A flicker of her usual warmth returned, softening the sorrowful lines of her face. She gave a small, sad shake of her head.
"Alph, no. You don't have to apologize."
She sighed, a long, weary sound. "I never meant to hide it from you. Not really. I just... I wanted to protect you from it. For as long as I could."
Her gaze dropped to her hands. "Teacher Hemlock has been so patient, so encouraging... but I've been stuck. A Tier 0 apprentice for so long." A bitter self-reproach crept into her voice. "How could I dump the weight of our family's past on you? It didn't seem fair to drag you down with the same baggage that I couldn't even seem to get past myself."
Alph listened, a quiet understanding settling over him. He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. "My parents... what were they like?"
A genuine, if watery, smile touched Elara's lips at the question. "Your mother... her name was Lucia. She was beautiful, and a powerful Tier 2 Arcane Mage. She... she passed giving birth to you." The smile faded, but a deep warmth remained in her voice. "And your father... my brother... his name was Einar."
She laughed, a short, choked sound. "He was a Rimeshadow Spectre, a Tier 2 assassin feared in the shadows. But you never would have guessed it. He was gallant, and kind, and had this... this dashing smile." The memory brought fresh tears to her eyes, and she looked away, unable to continue.
The mention of Einar's name sent a ripple through Hemlock's own memories. For a moment, he was no longer in the meeting hall, but back in a sun-dappled grove, a lifetime ago. Back when he was still a part of the Stone-Root Kinship. He saw Einar not as a shadow, but as he had been: a young man with the bearing of a knight, a pair of startlingly cold grey eyes, and a smile that could disarm a king.
The old druid sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of years. The dashing smile flashed before his eyes one last time, then vanished. So many friends, so many faces, lost to the river of time.
Alph sat in the heavy silence, a quiet observer to their grief. He had no memories of Einar or Lucia, no personal sense of loss. He was a stranger to his own parentage. Yet the love they inspired, the raw, genuine sorrow that radiated from Elara and Hemlock, was a tangible thing. It was real. And it anchored him.
A cold, hard resolve crystallized in his chest. His prior goals—survival, understanding this new world, reaching the Academy—were no longer just pragmatic objectives. They were now steps on a new path. A purpose. He would grow stronger. He would master his craft. And he would hunt down the families, the perpetrators, who had shattered this one.
He had spent a lifetime defending criminals of every stripe. He understood greed, ambition, and the brutal calculus of power. He knew their playbook. The cunning mind that had once navigated the treacherous currents of the legal system would be put to a new, far more personal use. He would root them out, every last one.
Elara finally wiped the tears from her eyes, her expression a mixture of grief and apology. "Alph, can you forgive me? For keeping all of this from you?"
A small, easy smile touched Alph's lips, his old, casual self returning in a flash. He reached into his tunic and pulled out a single, folded sheet of parchment, its creases worn soft. He placed it on the stone slab between them.
"Not until you forgive me first."
Elara stared at the letter, her eyes widening in disbelief. Her hand flew to her mouth, and a single, choked word escaped. "You knew..."
"Only for a few hours," Alph replied, his smile widening into a grin. He had found it, read it, and its emotional weight had sent his world into a tailspin.
Hemlock looked from the boy's grin to the letter on the table. He recognized the elegant script instantly. Einar's hand. And in that moment, everything clicked into place. The suddenness of the boy's awakening, the sheer intensity of the vortex... He had assumed it was the pressure of the mercenaries and the looming ceremony. He saw now he was only partially right. The true catalyst had been psychological, the emotional shock of a lifetime delivered in a single, folded note.
Elara stared at Alph, her shock giving way to a dawning, incredulous amusement. He wasn't mad. He wasn't stressed. He was cracking a joke. A warmth flooded her chest, chasing away the last of the lingering shadows. Her lips twitched, then curled into a playful, menacing smile of her own.
"Oh, you think this is funny, do you?" she retorted, her tone light for the first time all evening. "Fine. For that, you get to drink my specially made Snowmelt Stew tomorrow. Two bowls."
A genuine, theatrical shiver ran down Alph's spine, a reaction that had nothing to do with the cold. The last time he'd had Snowmelt Stew, he'd sworn he could still taste the moss for three days.
Then, a laugh erupted from his chest, loud and free. Elara joined in, her laughter bright and clear. Even Hemlock, watching the two of them, felt the heavy weight on his own shoulders lift, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. The tension in the hall finally, truly broke, replaced by the simple, healing warmth of family.
When the laughter subsided, a comfortable quiet settled over them. Alph, feeling the thrum of new energy beneath his skin, turned to the old druid. "Teacher, what do we do next?"
Hemlock held up a hand, stopping the boy's eager questions before they could form. "Next, you rest. It may not seem it, but a bloodline activation takes a heavy toll on the body. Your mind may be sharp, but your vessel is exhausted."
Elara chimed in, her voice firm with a guardian's authority. "He's right, Alph. It's already nearing midnight. Uncle Borin is still out on patrol, and he'll need his own rest when he returns. We can discuss everything tomorrow afternoon."
Reluctantly, Alph nodded. He followed Elara out of the meeting hall and back to their small cottage. Once inside, the familiar sight of his simple bed, with its thick fur quilts, was like a physical blow. The adrenaline that had sustained him vanished, and the full, crushing weight of his mental and physical exhaustion hit him all at once. He barely had the energy to pull off his boots before he collapsed onto the bed, sleep taking him before his head even settled on the pillow.
Elara watched him for a moment, then carefully pulled the heavy quilts over his still form. He was all grown up, a Scribe of their bloodline, carrying the weight of their family's past and future. She walked to the small window, looking out at the shallow moon hanging in the cold, clear sky.
A soft, sad smile touched her lips. "Oh, Einar," she whispered to the stars. "You would be so proud of him. Your heart would be full of joy if you saw him today."