Chapter 124

“I need to make a few trips. Probably sometime next week,” I said over dinner. “Caldris and Esmori. I might swing by and see Elarion while I’m out that way. I shouldn’t be gone more than a week. And if anything comes up, you know how to find me.”

Ashlara’s eyes flicked up to me for a heartbeat - sharp, assessing - then dropped back to her plate as if nothing had passed between us.

“Ah boove oing do Pie-oin?” Elise asked around a mouthful of potatoes.

I waited.

Over the years, she’d come a long way. She no longer tried to cram as much food into her mouth as physically possible - a lingering habit from the fifteen years she’d spent alone in her library. She hadn’t had a single bite to eat in that time. I still wasn’t sure when she’d last eaten before that.

But even now, when she got excited, the old habits slipped.

She chewed, swallowed, and flushed faintly, pale skin coloring at the cheeks.

“Sorry,” she said. “Are you going to Highcoin?”

I smiled. “I could be convinced. What are you looking for?”

“There is a bookstore there - the Gilded Ledger - that I would very much like to visit,” she said, the words picking up speed as her excitement returned. “Master Edevane acquired several rare tomes from them.”

“I think we can arrange that, my love.”

Her face lit up. She bounced once in her chair, immediately taking another bite, enthusiasm winning out over composure.

“Everything alright?” Mirri asked, watching me.

“I spoke with Jackob today,” I said. “There may be a cult in Caldris feeding people to Weeping Gallows. There’s also a rumor about a peaceful bloodchild in Esmori. And something about a city disappearing in Ilyr’Vaeneth.”

I shrugged lightly.

“The cult’s concerning. The bloodchild is probably mistaken identity. And I have a hard time believing an entire city just… vanishes. Still - I’m going to check them all out.”

“Please be careful,” Serah said, her voice quiet but firm. “We will manage while you are gone.”

* * *

I watched the two Others approach the strange tree.

Others. Bloodchildren. Devourlings. People like me - or at least like I used to be. People not of my pack.

There weren’t many of us left. There’d never been many of us in the first place. Most died not long after they were born. And the people of this world feared us - hunted us, abandoned us. So the ones that survived were… lacking. No language. No tools. No fire. No pack.

The tree they approached was like the one that grew near the keep. The one He had warned us about.

Just thinking of Him made me angry. Made me want to tear the Others apart. To rip that stupid tree from the ground. To tear Him apart.

But curiosity held me still.

The trees killed people. Slowly. Over days.

He said killing should be quick. Clean. No suffering. That was how you hunted.

These trees didn’t hunt. They didn’t stalk. Didn’t chase.

People came to them. Fed them.

I had seen it. People tied to the trunks. Nailed to them. Left there while the branches curled and pierced and drank. Blood ran. Flesh disappeared, piece by piece, until nothing remained but bark - and a new face pressed into the wood.

The faces never moved. Never opened their eyes. Never spoke. They just… stayed. Like they were sleeping.

But two days ago, I had watched Others climb out of one of those trees. Pull themselves free and walk away. South, toward a camp of people dressed in white.

The Covenant of Mercy.

They gathered people. Nailed them to the trees. Spoke of ending pain. Ending suffering.

It sounded horrible. Why would they want an end to that? Pain mattered. It meant something. It told you when to stop. When to fight. When to survive.

The people on the trees talked. They confessed things. Things they had done. Some of it bad. Some of it… not.

Most of them died.

Most.

Some didn’t. I’d seen them too. Their voices fading as their flesh darkened, tightening, hardening into something like bark. Then, when the change was done, they pulled themselves free. The people in white welcomed them.

They were twig men - bodies of knotted wood and scarred bark. Strong. Hard to kill.

I’d tested that. I wasn’t good at sneaking. Not like Clo. Not like Vel. But I’d gotten close enough. Close enough to strike first.

Four arms. Four blades. I hit it hard - fast. Steel bit into bark, splitting it, dark sap oozing from the wounds. But it didn’t fall. My blades couldn’t cut deep enough.

So I tore into it with my hands.

It fought back. Claws like thorns raked across my body, biting deep. Spiked tendrils lashed out, dripping venom, wrapping and tearing at my flesh. The poison didn’t matter - but the pain did.

I didn’t stop. I ripped it apart piece by piece until it was nothing but splintered wood and leaking sap. And even then, I burned it. Watched it turn to ash.

Ahead of me, one of those twig men peeled itself away from the strange tree and approached the Others.

The trunk split open - like a mouth turned sideways. Sharp roots shifted, pulled back, and made space.

The Others stepped inside.

The tree closed around them with a dry, cracking sound - wood bending, sealing them in.

The twig man returned to the trunk, pressing itself flat against it. Still. Silent. Until it looked like nothing more than another twisted branch.

* * *

The next week or so passed quietly - no crises, no surprises.

I checked in with each of the matrons, letting them know I’d be gone for a week or so. Ashlara, Elise, Mirri, and Serah would keep things running in my absence. They always did.

I spent a night in Spellmarch - the capital of Morentis. I still had quarters in the arcane tower, granted after the war, and I made a point of using them at least once a month. Not because I needed to. Not because I had duties there. But because Cedrion Crowhurst - the Master of Malefic and a member of the ruling Council - didn’t like me.

And I knew my presence irritated him.

Over the years, that irritation had dulled. We’d even managed conversations that bordered on friendly. But old habits died hard, and I enjoyed the quiet game we played with each other.

The rest of my time was spent with the kids - at least the ones still at home.

I went down to the river with Tib and Torvek to watch Tib sail the small boat he’d gotten for his birthday. Torvek had put a lot of effort into it - more than he let on - and it showed in every careful adjustment, every steady line. But what stood out more was the way he watched Tib - quiet pride, plain as day, as his brother guided the boat across the water.

Mak and I went hunting, though the day never quite cooperated. Gray skies hung low, the air sharp with cold, and the woods felt empty. We didn’t see much game, so it turned into a long walk instead. I didn’t mind. We talked - about the other kids in town, her studies, what she wanted out of the future.

She was torn.

Part of her wanted to travel - to see the Iron Nation, to understand where she came from. The other part wanted to stay close to Nok.

Nok had his own plans - beastmastery. That likely meant time in Iilvarion, where the best teachers lived. If it came to it, I could pull a few strings. Get him a foot in the door.

Both were still a few years off. Nok couldn’t start an apprenticeship until he turned sixteen and in our family, no one left on their own before sixteen.

I convinced Brinja to help me track a pack of wargs one night. I didn’t need the help, but that wasn’t the point. There was just enough danger to make it interesting. Just enough focus required to keep conversation optional. It gave us space - away from the others - and showed her I trusted her. That mattered.

I commissioned a new painting from Issa. Her work already hung throughout the keep, but I had a few empty spaces in my study, and she was the best artist I knew. She hadn’t painted much lately. I figured a bit of coin - and the promise of a shopping trip with her friends - might be enough to get her started again.

We spent a day hiking under the excuse of “finding inspiration.” We went out to Master Edevane’s tower - where I’d first met Elise. The place had been magnificent once. Now it was crumbling, still bearing the scars of my fight with Brand. The shoreline was beautiful in its own way, but the tufa towers that had once lined it lay broken, toppled into the water.

We explored what remained of the tower, then walked along the sunlit lake. Further down the shore, though, more calcium pillars rose - strange, pale formations climbing toward the sky. Still something worth seeing - something that remained.

I took Lilae on a long walk as well. We talked about everything and nothing - her siblings, the kids in town, the livestock, the new tricks she was learning with her magic. She always had something to say, and her laughter came easily.

She was the easiest of my children to spend time with. As my first daughter, we shared something deep - something steady and unshakable. She was smart, kind, and driven in ways that still surprised me. Unlike some of the others - she didn’t shy away when I told her how proud I was of her.

I made time for Morien and Briva too - wrestling, telling stories, singing, taking them on short walks. Simple things. Important things.

And I made sure to take each of my women out, just the two of us.

With Mirri, we walked through Pinefall - the village where she’d been born. Her mother, Morghinna, had once ruled there as matron, and their relationship had been… strained, to put it lightly. Mirri had left, eventually finding a home with Grams in Reedwatch.

Morghinna had been removed from power a few years back. A new matron had taken her place, and the tension that once clung to the village had eased. Now, with Mirri’s position as shaman - and her ever-present warmth - she’d become something of a local legend.

Afterward, I took her into the woods, to a quiet clearing. We shared a simple, picnic meal beneath the open sky… and each other beneath the moonlight.

Ashlara and I went hunting. Simple. Familiar.

We didn’t push too hard - it wasn’t about the kill. It was about moving together again, falling back into something instinctive and shared. I cooked what we caught - leaning on a few tips from Mirri - and we ate in comfortable silence.

Afterward, we sparred. Which turned into wrestling. Which turned into something heat and passion, tangled together in the brush.

Elise and I stayed in. We spent the night in the library within the demesne. She still struggled in public spaces - her presence carried that alien wrongness that came with being a void-mage. It faded with familiarity, but strangers didn’t have that luxury, and their reactions weighed on her more than she let on.

So we stayed where she was comfortable. We read. Talked. Drifted from one subject to another until time lost its meaning. Eventually, we made love beneath one of the long tables, surrounded by books and silence.

Serah needed something different. Something with weight.

We went to Wolfsend - the first place I’d ever seen in this world. A small orc village - unremarkable at a glance - but not to me. We walked the town, then pushed outward, searching for the clearing where I had first arrived. It took time - I’d only been there once - but my memory was sharper now. Clearer than it ever had been on Earth.

We found it. I told her the story - how Ashlara had slain the proto-goddess - Mother Hunger - and how utterly useless I’d been through most of it.

Later, back in the demesne, we retreated to the castle at its heart. We made love in the opulent master bedroom, luxuriated in the magical hottub, and found each other again - steam rising around us as our bodies met.

In between it all, I kept up with the work around the keep - checking supplies, chopping wood, cleaning the pens, making repairs, finishing small projects I’d been putting off.

Nothing grand. Just the kind of work that keeps a place - and a family - running.