Village of Z’laera

The Vaelbreaker…

The name lingered with him ever since Oberon had spoken it aloud. Ryder had seen it in those first moments upon arriving here; but he had taken it at face value, never pressing further. The book, too, had been left unmentioned, buried beneath the chaos of his arrival. From the instant he had set foot in this realm, survival had consumed him. By the time night fell each day, he had been too exhausted, too overwhelmed, to chase the meaning hidden in the text.

The rest of Oberon’s explanation blurred at the edges, Ryder’s thoughts scattering in the wake of that revelation. He had zoned out after hearing “Vaelbreaker,” his mind racing even as the group lingered over their meal. Eon suggested they take Azumar up on his offer to visit the Dovaari village. A warrior of such strength might hold the key to helping Castor. Oberon, in turn, urged them toward Briarthorne, where knowledge of other elemental magics could be sought. And then he asked to see Ryder’s rifting magic with his own eyes.

Eon seized on the idea, proposing Ryder rift them back to Aeiaris to begin their trek through Glimmerglade Forest toward Azumar’s village.

The suggestion struck Ryder like a spark. He wanted to be near Aeiaris again, to press his palm against its bark, to feel once more the strange resonance it stirred within him. He raised his hand, conjuring the memory with intent—the vast trunk, the golden-veined bark, the living pulse that thrummed through its wood. The image crystallized in his mind, and the air before him shimmered. A swirling rift tore open, resolving into a clear vision of the tree as though they stood mere steps away.

“Most fascinating,” Oberon murmured, awe widening his eyes.

Beside him, Aeva’s jaw fell. She covered her mouth in disbelief, as though for the first time she truly accepted Ryder’s power.

“Shall we?” Ryder asked, steadier now, determination threading his voice. Castor’s salvation lay ahead, and this was the first step on that path.

One by one, Eon, Alice, and Erys stepped through at his side.

“Farewell then,” Oberon said warmly, his smile carrying both weight and welcome. “Feel free to rift back into the Great Hall whenever you wish. You are honored guests here in Luminara.”

Ryder lingered at the threshold. His thoughts spun, heavier than the air around him. Was this truly how Aethereans were regarded by their ruler—welcomed as honored guests and sent on their way so freely? Why did Oberon remain so composed, so unshaken, when everything about Ryder’s presence here was so strange and mysterious? And then there was the likeness; unsettling and undeniable. Oberon looked as though he could have been Ryder’s brother, yet no one—aside from Erys—had spoken a word of it. Questions plagued him and no answers ever came.

Eon’s voice from beyond the rift cut through the haze, grounding him.

“So, southwest toward Revaeris Lake first,” Eon called. “That’s where Azumar said his village would be.”

Ryder exhaled, forcing the questions back down as he stepped forward. One foot crossed the threshold, the rift’s energy tingling across his skin, when Oberon’s voice rose behind him—low and steady.

“Take care, Ryder… and may Arcaenion light your way.”

Ryder turned, offering Oberon a quick smile and a nod before stepping fully into the rift. The portal sealed shut behind him in a shimmer of light. Ahead, Eon and Alice were already moving at a steady pace, with Erys trailing a few steps behind.

Before following, Ryder jogged to Aeiaris and pressed his palm once more against her bark, drawing in a deep breath.

The sensation came instantly—that same overwhelming calm, that same feeling of home. It was as though every burden dissolved in an instant. No fears, no doubts, no pain. Only stillness, peace, and the quiet certainty that here, in Aetherealm, life would be just fine… however long it lasted.

But the further they walked from the Mother Tree, the more that serenity unraveled. The calm frayed into unease, then into a gnawing dread. By the time the forest canopy of Glimmerglade swallowed them, Ryder felt his chest tighten, as if the weight of a thousand questions pressed down all at once. He moved on autopilot, his mind a ceaseless storm.

It was Alice who finally broke through.

“Hey, Ry,” she said softly, her voice pulling him back. “What’s going on? You okay?”

He shook his head. “No. Not really.” His words spilled quicker than he meant them to, raw and unfiltered now that it was only the four of them. “Have you ever heard of the Vaelbreaker? At some point we need to get to the library and research it. If we’re ever going to find our way home, we have to know who the Vaelbreaker is. Someone there might have answers.”

“It’s a legend,” Eon replied, measured as ever. “The name’s been around for ages. There are tomes, yes—but for now we should follow the Grand Luminary’s counsel. After we see Azumar, Briarthorne will be your best path forward. Many elemental mages dwell there. If you’re to master the elements, that’s where it begins.”

Alice placed a hand on Ryder’s back, her smile warm and grounding. “We’ll get to the library, Ry. We’ll figure it out. But one step at a time.”

Ryder drew in a long breath, forcing a nod. “You’re right. Both of you. It’s just—my mind won’t stop racing. It’s all so much. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel real. I literally cannot believe I’m here.”

Just then, the ground lurched beneath their feet. Ryder’s eyes widened as the earth groaned, the trees shuddering violently all around them. Leaves hissed and rattled in a deafening chorus, and beneath it came the jagged crack of stone splitting deep underground.

“TERRAQUAKE!” Erys screamed, collapsing into a small ball on the forest floor, arms clutched over her head.

Ryder’s gaze darted to Eon and Alice, both scanning wildly in every direction. His own eyes shot skyward—the canopy convulsed above, branches thrashing, and the fractured sunlight danced frantically across the ground like broken glass.

He dropped to one knee, steadying himself with a palm against the trembling earth, heart hammering.

And then—silence.

The quaking ceased as abruptly as it had begun. The branches stilled, the leaves quieted, and the forest seemed to exhale into unnatural calm.

Erys’s quiet sobs filled the void, fear trembling through each sound. Alice knelt quickly at her side, murmuring words of comfort, while Ryder rose on shaky legs.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, voice sharper than he intended.

Eon’s eyes met his, grim and heavy. “A terraquake. I haven’t felt one in… ages.”

“Is that… normal?” Ryder asked, his throat tight.

Eon shook his head slowly, the calm mask on his face cracking to reveal his unease. “No. Not really.”

They all fell silent again, the stillness broken only by Erys’s soft sobs as Alice coaxed her to breathe.

After a long pause, Eon spoke, his tone low and careful. “They happen irregularly, and they’re almost always this violent. But the tales say more—terraquakes are omens. Harbingers of doom and destruction.” His breath came uneven, and he drew in another, as if steadying himself.

Ryder swallowed hard, a cold knot forming in his stomach. The deeper he fell into Aetherealm’s lore, the more he wished he could remain ignorant—especially knowing he had no way out.

“We should keep moving,” Alice urged gently, helping Erys back to her feet.

“Alice is right,” Eon agreed, his tone firm though his eyes betrayed lingering worry. “Revaeris Lake isn’t far from here.”

Ryder, trying to lighten the mood, let out a short chuckle. “So what’s so special about this lake?” he asked, half-joking—every lake they had come across so far seemed to hold some strange property.

Eon’s brows drew together. “It’s Revaeris Lake,” he said quietly. “Otherwise known as the Lake of Memories.”

Ryder’s smile faltered. He froze mid-step, his joking demeanor vanishing in an instant. “…Of course it is,” he muttered under his breath.

The others laughed, the edge of tension breaking, and together they pressed deeper into Glimmerglade Forest.

“When you look into the lake’s depths,” Eon continued, “it’s said you can glimpse fragments of your past. But memories are fragile things. They are never truly as they happened. Each time they’re recalled, details shift, fade, or blur. What you remember is not the moment itself—it’s the echo of the last time you remembered it. With every recollection, you move one step further from the truth… and sometimes, a step to the side.”

“So basically,” Ryder said, raising a brow, “the lake just shows us our imagination at work?”

“Precisely,” Eon nodded. “It reveals memory as you perceive it. But two people may recall the same event in very different ways.”

Erys tilted her head. “Sounds like you speak from experience.”

A small chuckle escaped Eon. “You could say that. What makes the lake truly remarkable, though, is that its magic allows memories to be shared. You and another may look into it together and see the same memory—through each other’s eyes. To witness the same moment from more than one perspective… it is humbling. And at times, profoundly eye-opening.” His voice softened, trailing into a note of longing as he pushed his glasses further up onto his nose.

Ryder’s thoughts drifted as they walked. What would Eon’s memories look like? To step into his past would be fascinating. And to share his own—well, that idea stirred something brighter in him. Back home, he had been born of Visible Imagination. He was used to showing others the images in his mind. For once, this felt like magic he understood. Something he was confident in.

Maybe one day, he thought, Alice and I could share a memory together—seeing our worlds overlap, each from the other’s perspective. The thought made him smile, hope flickering in his chest like a small but steady flame.

As the party pressed on, the dense trees of Glimmerglade Forest finally began to thin. Ahead, the forest opened into a quiet clearing, and there it was—Revaeris Lake.

Even in daylight, a shroud of fog hovered low across its surface, drifting like clouds torn from the sky. The air grew colder here, carrying with it a weight that prickled across Ryder’s skin. The magic was palpable. Aether itself seemed to glow within the clouds above the lake, as though the memories of countless souls radiated outward rather than resting within the waters below.

Ryder paused, breath catching. Just as with the other lakes he had seen, Revaeris Lake was breathtaking in its own way. Each one bore its own beauty, its own magic, its own power. This was no different.

Eon kept to the tree line as he circled, his steps measured, never drifting too close to the shore. “One thing to know about this lake,” he said quietly, “is that you must be very careful not to fall in. Of all the lakes in Aetherealm, this one is the most dangerous.”

“Why can’t you go in?” Erys asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

For a moment, Eon said nothing. His expression tightened, as though dredging up something he would rather leave buried. He shook his head once, as if to cast it away. Then, with a steadying breath, he spoke.

“Because it will swallow you whole.” His gaze swept back over the lake, drawing theirs to the strange, buoyant clouds drifting lazily over the silver surface. “Those clouds exist because they are memories of Aethereans past. When you enter the water, the current will begin to pull you toward its heart. At the very center lies a whirlpool. If you’re not careful, it will drag you under. And if it takes you…” He trailed, his voice low. “Your memories become part of it. Forever on display for anyone to see.”

He broke off, eyes distant, before shaking his head again, trying to push the thought away.

Ryder frowned, though his voice carried a touch of awe. “That sounds… poetic, in a way. At least you’d never be forgotten.” He stepped forward, a smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s have a look.”

“More like massively invasive,” Erys muttered.

Alice crossed her arms lightly. “Depends on your perspective. It could be a gift.”

“I’m with Erys on this,” Eon said firmly. “Imagine every moment of your life laid bare, plucked apart by strangers. Families, friends—forever haunted by what was left behind.” His eyes followed Ryder’s advance, concern furrowing deeper. “I truly think we should keep moving. The village cannot be far.”

Ryder turned and grinned, walking backward a few steps before spinning back toward the lake. “Oh, come on. I just want to see it. This reminds me of the magic I grew up with back home. I’d love to see it in action.”

As he neared the shore, the lake changed. From afar, its waters had seemed like any other; deep blue beneath drifting, silvery fog. But up close, the surface shimmered like polished silver, luminous and strange, as though the light itself bent to the lake’s will. Ryder slowed, his eyes wide with wonder.

As Ryder stepped up to the lake’s edge, he peered into its gleaming surface. From this close, it looked almost as though the water was reflecting the very sky above, casting it in a shifting silvery-blue hue. His eyes caught on a small black stone at his feet. He bent down, picked it up, and tossed it into the lake.

The water rippled outward, the surface undulating like liquid glass. Through the distortions, Ryder caught a flicker of movement—shapes, shadows, like an image half-formed. It was as though a film were playing across the ripples themselves. He leaned forward, focusing, and for an instant he swore he saw a room. But as the water calmed, the vision vanished, leaving only the mirror-like surface reflecting the clouded sky above.

“Ryder, we should really be going,” Eon murmured, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait,” Ryder said quickly, shaking his head. “I want to see.” He crouched, gathering more of the black stones scattered along the shore, and flung several out across the water in quick succession.

This time the images sharpened as the ripples overlapped, forming a clearer window. Ryder’s breath caught. It was his room.

“Th—that’s my bedroom!” he exclaimed, jabbing a finger toward the water. The angle was familiar: his computer desk, viewed from the bed as though he were looking through his own eyes.

Eon’s gaze followed, his expression hardening in shock. “What… what is that contraption on your desk?”

“My computer,” Ryder answered, grinning despite himself. “This is insane.”

“Comp…uter?” Eon repeated, fumbling over the word as though it were foreign to his tongue.

“Yeah,” Ryder said with a laugh. “It’s where I play video games, search the internet—stuff like that.”

Eon blinked. “I have never heard so many words I do not understand all at once. Computer. Video…game. Inter…net?”

Ryder couldn’t hold back a laugh, glancing at Alice, who chuckled as well. “Welcome to another world,” he said lightly, though the sight of his bedroom tugged something deeper in his chest.

Slowly, the ripples stilled. The vision collapsed, leaving only the silver sheen of the lake once more.

“Come,” Eon said at last, his voice gentle. He gave Ryder a small nudge. “One day we’ll return, and you can show me more of your memories. But for now, Castor comes first.”

Ryder exhaled, nodding. He glanced back at Erys—still shaken from the quake, hovering nervously away from the water’s edge—then turned toward the forest. Together, they began the trek southward, Azumar’s village their next destination.

After circling the lake’s full expanse and finding only silence upon its shores, the party turned southwest, pressing once more into the thick of Glimmerglade Forest. The trees grew taller here, their canopies weaving tighter, shadows spilling like woven cloth across the mossy ground.

Within the hour, they came upon a great wooden gate, towering and vertical, its heavy beams pulled wide in welcome. From beyond drifted the faint hum of voices, the rhythm of life carrying through the trees. Ryder felt a spark of certainty—this had to be it. Unlike the stonework fortresses or polished halls they had seen before, this place breathed with nature itself, wild and unrefined, yet alive.

As they drew closer, the first villager appeared: a small child darting across the path in chase of a ball. Tiny horns curled from their head, scales shimmered faintly along their arms, and their bright violet eyes gleamed with laughter. A few others followed, each child sporting their own variation of horns, scales, and the same glowing amethyst gaze.

Ryder slowed, awe spreading across his face. Dovaari.

This had to be the village Azumar had spoken of.

As the party stepped through the village gates, it was as though a switch had been flipped. The children who had been laughing and playing only moments ago froze mid-step. One quickly scooped up the ball, clutching it close as they turned, their wide violet eyes fixed warily on the newcomers.

Ryder glanced around. More villagers emerged into view, and every one of them halted what they were doing to stare. Their gazes were sharp and unyielding—more intense than any scrutiny Ryder had yet endured. It felt as though none of these people had ever seen outsiders before. The weight of their collective silence pressed down, each step forward more uncomfortable than the last.

At the heart of the village, the path widened into a square where a massive statue dominated the space. It depicted a male Dovaari with vast, outstretched wings, great curved horns, and scaled limbs that climbed up his arms, legs, and face. A true draconian form, carved in reverence. Just beyond the statue stood a towering wooden hall, its heavy doors looming like sentinels.

Suddenly, those doors swung open, and into the sunlight stepped Azumar.

His eyes landed on the group, widening in surprise before breaking into a hearty belly laugh. “Travelers! By Aeiaris, I was not expecting you at all!” he boomed. “When the forest grew so quiet, I feared the worst. I thought another Dovaa attack might be upon us.” He grinned broadly. “But instead, I find friends at my doorstep. Welcome, welcome, to our humble home—the village of Z’laera!”

“Azumar!” Eon greeted warmly, smiling as he inclined his head. “It’s a relief to see you again. Forgive us—we didn’t mean to alarm the villagers.”

“Nonsense!” Azumar barked with a wave of his hand. He turned to the watching Dovaari and called out, “Back to your work, you nosy bloom-sniffers!”

The crowd instantly shuffled back to their tasks, feigning disinterest, though Ryder could still feel their curiosity buzzing beneath the surface.

With another laugh, Azumar gestured toward the hall. “Come, honored guests. Let us speak inside.”

He led them through the tall doorway, wings held proudly unfurled, the space clearly designed to accommodate his kind. The hall was vast, its air thick with smoke that curled lazily toward the rafters. The scent of heavy incense clung to the walls, earthy and potent, though Ryder couldn’t place its origin.

“So,” Azumar began as he strode to the center of the chamber, “what brings you to Z’laera?”

“We need your help saving my brother,” Erys blurted out before anyone else could speak.

Azumar turned, his expression shifting into concern. “Your brother?”

Erys nodded quickly. “Yes. He’s fallen into some kind of trance—or coma. The Grand Luminary told us a Peisio Dovaari healer would be our best chance.”

Azumar’s features softened with understanding. “Ah… Dovaari healing is powerful indeed,” he said knowingly. “And I believe I know just the one who can help.”

He motioned to a cluster of burlap sacks filled with grain, arranged as makeshift seats. “Please, rest yourselves. You are our honored guests.”

The party settled onto the cushions, the incense hanging thick in the air, while Azumar moved toward the back of the hall. With a sweep of his wings, he pushed through a heavy beaded curtain and disappeared into the shadows beyond.

Ryder sat in awe as he let his eyes wander over the hall. The wooden walls were alive with color, painted in intricate murals reminiscent of medieval tapestries he had once studied. Here were sweeping forests, mighty winged figures, Dovaa clashing in battle, and the luminous essence of Dovaa souls woven into every panel. Each brushstroke told a story, a glimpse into the life of the Dovaari. Ryder’s imagination ran wild—what must it have been like to grow up here, steeped in this heritage? The horns alone—elegant and dignified—were something he had always admired, even in his friends back home. A small pang of longing struck him; how he wished he had been born with such a mark of distinction.

The faint rustle of the curtain drew him from his thoughts.

Azumar reappeared, a broad smile on his face, and behind him stepped a younger Dovaari. He was slender, almost delicate in build, with a single horn spiraling from his brow and eyes as bright as polished sapphire. His hair flowed in a gradient of dark ocean blue into a vivid teal at the tips. He couldn’t have been much older than Erys.

“Travelers,” Azumar declared proudly, giving the boy a hearty clap on the back, “I present my son—Lazarus.”

The clap sent Lazarus stumbling forward a step. He rolled his eyes, though a small smirk tugged at his lips. He lifted a hand in a casual wave. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you.”

“He has quite the gift with healing magic,” Azumar added, his chest swelling with pride. “He serves as our village healer for good reason.”

“Village healer,” Erys whispered reverently, almost to herself.

Ryder smiled warmly. “Would you be willing to help us?”

Lazarus tilted his head, curiosity bright in his gaze. “My father said someone is in a coma?”

“My brother,” Erys managed after clearing her throat.

The young healer’s face softened, his expression warm and open. “Then of course. I’ll do everything I can.”

At that, tears welled in Erys’s eyes, spilling freely as relief overcame her.

“We would be grateful beyond words,” Ryder said with a nod.

“Then it is settled!” Azumar boomed, laughter echoing through the chamber. With a flick of his wrist, two glowing Peisio Dovaa souls materialized in his hand. “Take these, son.”

Lazarus accepted them with a polite nod before dispelling them into motes of light. “Thank you, Father.”

Erys bowed her head, voice trembling. “Thank you—both of you. You don’t know what this means to me.”

Azumar placed a broad hand on her shoulder. “Family is the heart of all things, child. That truth binds us all. And I have complete faith in my son’s gift.”

“Shall we rift, Ryder?” Eon asked, a hopeful smile tugging at his lips.

Erys nodded emphatically, her tears still glistening. Alice slipped an arm around her shoulders, giving a gentle squeeze, and Erys leaned into her embrace with a sob of gratitude.

“Of course,” Ryder replied, exhaling.

Azumar’s head tilted. “Rifting?” His voice carried both awe and disbelief. His gaze shifted sharply to Ryder. “You can rift?”

Ryder hesitated, then nodded.

“You are truly an enigma, Ryder,” Azumar said, shaking his head in wonder. Then his expression softened, turning back to his son. “Be safe, Lazarus.”

“I will, Father,” Lazarus replied, returning his embrace.

Ryder stepped forward and raised his hand. He focused on the memory of Erys’s home—the Mist-swathed window, the living room bathed in its pale glow. The air shimmered, bending and swirling until a rift tore open, edges rimmed with flowing, luminous energy. Through it, their destination came into perfect view.

“Remarkable…” Azumar breathed.

Lazarus stood transfixed, his expression betraying awe.

Before hesitation could reclaim her, Erys rushed forward and leapt through the rift, disappearing into the glow. Alice, Eon, and Lazarus followed one after another.

As Ryder prepared to step through, Azumar caught him gently by the shoulder. “Take care of my son,” he said, his tone low but firm. “He has never been far from this village.”

Ryder met his gaze and nodded with quiet resolve.

And then he stepped through. Behind him, Azumar raised a hand in farewell as the rift shimmered shut, sealing the village of Z’laera away once more.

In Erys’s living room, Lazarus stood in silent awe, his wide eyes sweeping across the space. The walls, the furniture, even the very construction—it was unlike anything he had ever known. The clean lines and compact design felt almost alien compared to the sprawling, organic structures of Z’laera. For a boy who had hardly left his village, the contrast was jarring.

Erys, Pollux, and Samael soon returned, the latter two still pale with shock at the sudden rift that had opened out of nowhere in their living room. Outside, evening had settled, and the low groans of the Mist echoed against the walls, a haunting chorus that made Lazarus’s scales prickle. When the others explained what the Mist was, his face paled further, the horror plain in his expression.

With care, Pollux and Samael carried Castor into the room, laying him gently upon the couch. His chest rose and fell faintly—still breathing, still alive—but his body remained slack, his mind lost somewhere unreachable.

Alice and Lazarus both froze at the sight, their expressions mirroring the same unease. This was no ordinary affliction.

From his vault, Lazarus summoned a shimmering Peisio Dovaa soul, the crystalline light illuminating his hand in soft hues of azure. He knelt beside Castor, his gaze moving with deliberate precision as he examined the young man’s body. His hand paused at the great scar etched across Castor’s chest, a wound that no doubt carried a horrid memory.

“What happened to him?” Lazarus asked quietly, his voice steady but weighted.

Pollux exhaled heavily, his eyes clouded with sorrow. “He was attacked by a Dovaa… when we were still children.”

Lazarus furrowed his brow, his expression tightening as he traced the scar with his fingers, reverent yet careful. He closed his eyes briefly, as though listening for something within the stillness.

“I will do my very best,” he murmured at last—not only to those around him, but as if to Castor himself, and to whatever powers might be listening.

Lazarus uncorked the small flask strapped to his hip and lifted his hand. Water curled upward as though drawn to his will, wrapping around his left palm in a shimmering layer. He closed his eyes, steadying his breath, then placed the water-clad hand over Castor’s chest.

His brow furrowed as his touch moved slowly downward, tracing the flow of Castor’s energy from abdomen to neck before pausing over the scar etched across the boy’s chest. His hand lingered there, as if the scar itself resisted him. After a long moment, he drew back, his expression tight.

With a deliberate inhale, Lazarus raised the Peisio soul in his right hand. He crushed it in his grip.

A brilliant surge of aether erupted, spiraling around him in luminous currents before fusing into his body. His eyes, already deep blue, darkened further as veins of light traced his skin. His muscles tensed, rippling with raw energy. The water over his hand glowed with an otherworldly hue—deeper, darker, aether bleeding through its surface.

He closed his eyes once more and pressed his glowing palm firmly against Castor’s scar.

The room fell utterly silent. Every breath was held, every gaze locked on the young healer. Ryder could see the strain etching across Lazarus’s face, the discipline it took to focus through the overwhelming flow of aether. The tension grew so thick it seemed to vibrate in the air.

Moments stretched into eternity before Lazarus’s eyes flicked open. He exhaled sharply, pulling his hand away. Nothing had changed. Castor remained still, his breathing shallow.

“I… I’m sorry,” Lazarus whispered, shaking his head. “His aether is completely blocked here.” He gestured to the scar. “The wound may have healed on the outside, but beneath… there are countless micro-blockages. When he was struck, the Dovaa’s magic infused the wound. That aether has since settled and hardened into the scar tissue, clogging his flow. The energy cannot move to his brain. It’s all condensed here, trapped in his chest.”

Erys’s voice broke as she stepped forward, tears brimming. “So… what does that mean?!”

Lazarus’s gaze softened. “It means hydromancy alone may not be enough. There are two other paths of healing: floramancy and solamancy. Of the two, floramancy would be the better route. We need a floramancer.”

Ryder spun toward Eon. “Floramancy—like that Dovaa we saw before?”

Eon nodded gravely. “The Ysali, yes. Their art is rooted in the living world. Floramancers draw upon the harmony of nature itself. They are not one of the four cardinal magics, but among them, some become extraordinary healers. Only a true master could hope to unravel blockages such as these if a Peisio healer cannot.”

“Do you know any Ysali healers in your village?” Ryder asked, turning back.

Lazarus shook his head, regret pulling at his features. “No. The Ysali I know aid with building—growing vines and wood. Not healing. Within my village, I am expected to tend the wounded… but I’ve only worked with fresh injuries, not scars twisted and infused with hostile aether.”

“Briarthorne,” Erys breathed, her voice breaking. “We have to go to Briarthorne. That’s what Oberon said. There are Dovaari there—he said so.” Without another word, she turned and rushed from the room, urgency driving her steps.

Ryder looked at Alice and Eon, both watching him with equally heavy expressions. “She’s right,” he admitted. “Briarthorne may be our best chance.”

Pollux knelt by his twin’s side, tears streaming freely now, while Samael placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort.

“We’ll do everything we can,” Ryder said firmly, his voice steady despite the lump in his throat. “Even if it’s the last thing we do, we will exhaust every possibility to bring Castor back.”

Samael lifted his head, eyes glistening. “Thank you. I don’t know why you care so much for strangers… but you are our only hope.”

Ryder managed a soft smile. “Because family matters. And because you’ve both been there for us. We can’t just walk away. What kind of beings would we be if we left him helpless? No—we have to try.”

Samael swallowed hard, tears threatening to fall again. “You have no idea what this means to us. Too many look away from another’s suffering, but you… you bring hope. That’s a gift rarer than you know.”

He squeezed Pollux’s shoulder once more, then abruptly stood. Without another word, Samael turned and disappeared upstairs, his footsteps fading into silence.

Moments later, Erys returned with a hastily packed satchel slung over her shoulder. Her eyes were red but fierce with determination. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“You… don’t need to come with us, Erys,” Eon said carefully. “It’s still dangerous out there. I would feel better if—”

“No.” Her voice cut sharp, trembling but firm. “You cannot stop me. I am a grown woman, and I will not be bossed around any longer. I’m joining you until my brother is safe and whole again. If finding a floramancer is what it takes, then that’s what we’ll do.” Her words cracked halfway through, but the steel in them remained.

Ryder bumped Eon’s shoulder with his elbow, offering Erys a smile. “She’s more than welcome with us.”

“Thank you, Ryder,” Erys said softly. She crouched beside her brothers, hugging Pollux tight and ruffling Castor’s hair. “Take care of each other. We’ll be back with a floramancer before you know it.”

At that moment, Samael reappeared, holding a small wooden box. Inside, a ring gleamed—silver aetherium inlaid with blue glyntstone that shimmered like captured starlight. “I want you to have this,” he said, voice wavering. “They say it strengthens magic. I’m no mage… but maybe you can use it.”

Ryder’s eyes widened in shock. His stomach dropped. He knew that ring. Every umbramancer wore one. “Wh—where did you get this?!”

Samael froze, eyes darting nervously. “I—it was a gift.”

“From who?” Ryder demanded, snatching the ring, turning it over in his hand. Its weight was undeniable, this was the real deal.

Samael began to sweat, his face paling.

Erys rushed to Ryder’s side. When her eyes landed on the ring, she recoiled. “Sam—what did you do?!”

“I—” Samael stammered, then sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. “When I got back from Felrose… a man approached me. Said he could make problems disappear. That night I followed him into the grove just outside of town, where a crowd had gathered.”

“The Forgotten!?” Ryder blurted.

Eon quickly snatched the ring from Ryder to inspect it.

Samael’s head snapped toward him. “Y-yes! How did—”

“You got mixed up with that gang!?” Erys shouted, her tears flaring into fury.

“No!” Samael’s voice cracked. “Listen to me—I didn’t go along with them. The man leading them…”

“Nox,” Ryder breathed, clenching his fists.

“He called himself the Void. He wore a hood and cloak. His voice was smooth and persuasive. Many there hung on his every word. I might have too, but… something in my gut told me it was wrong. At the end, he urged everyone to take a ring and a pin—symbols of the Forgotten. He claimed the ring amplifies magic, makes it easier to use.” He swallowed hard, glancing at Ryder. “I don’t know magic, nor do I want to. But you do. So I took one—just in case it could help you. That’s all. I’ve done nothing else. They said there would be ‘special meetings’—that we’d know the time and hour. I have no idea what that means.”

“Where’s the pin?” Eon pressed.

Wordlessly, Samael pulled it from his pocket. Eon took it, turning it over in his hands with grave intent.

“This confirms it,” he said grimly, holding it up. “The Forgotten’s symbol. We’ll deliver this to the Grand Luminary.” With a flick of his hand, both the pin and the ring vanished into his vault.

“H-hey!” Samael protested. “That was actually kind of cool… I thought I’d keep it, y’know? As a keepsake or something.”

Erys marched over and smacked him on the back of the head.

“Ow!” Samael yelped, rubbing the spot. “Fine, fine! Take it!”

“Good,” she snapped, then turned back to the group. “So. To Briarthorne?”

“Yes,” Lazarus nodded. “My father knows the way, he’s been there before.”

“Great!” Erys said, eyes blazing with determination. “Ryder—you know what to do.”

“Pushy much?” Samael muttered, rolling his eyes.

Erys silenced him with a glare sharp enough to cut aetherium.

“Uh… right,” Ryder said, stepping forward. He raised his hand, summoning the memory of Z’laera’s village square. The air shimmered, bending and twisting until a rift tore open, the other side bathed in the glow of torchlight.

”I don’t know how to get used to this,” Lazarus admitted, seeing his village on the other side.

Eon chuckled and patted his back. “After the first few rifts you witness, it just becomes a very convenient way of travel; but the magic is still very fascinating.”

One by one, the party stepped through. Ryder followed last, the portal snapping shut behind him in a shimmer of fading light.

A few nearby Dovaari had gathered, whispering among themselves as Lazarus sprinted ahead into the Village Hall, calling for his father. Within moments he returned with Azumar, who strode out with his usual booming presence.

“Ah! Our honored guests return,” Azumar greeted, his wide smile gleaming in the torchlight. “I am sorry my boy could not aid you as you had hoped, but he tells me you now seek an Ysali healer. Please—you must stay the night here in Z’laera. I will prepare the Den for you. Tomorrow at first light you may depart. The nights in Glimmerglade Forest are treacherous if you are caught unprepared.”

Ryder glanced between the others, and one by one they nodded their agreement.

“SPLENDID!” Azumar roared, laughter echoing through the square. “Come, come! Let us see you settled.”

He led them back through the beaded curtains of the Village Hall into a chamber that seemed alive with warmth and care. The Den was a large, open room with polished wooden floors and sleeping mats arranged in a wide circle. At the center rose a massive tree trunk, its bark smooth and pale, reaching all the way to the ceiling like a pillar of living wood. At its base grew a ring of herbs and flowers, filling the room with a soothing, earthy fragrance.

“You will rest here tonight,” Azumar said proudly. “Please, be at peace, and in the morning we shall share a Dovaari feast. I’ll leave Lazarus with you this evening—should you need anything, he will see to it.”

“Thank you for your generosity,” Eon said with a respectful bow.

Azumar returned the gesture with a nod, clapping a hand on his son’s back. “Of course, my friends. That is what we are here for. Goodnight, and may Aeiaris guide your dreams.” With that, he departed, leaving the soft swaying of the beads in his wake.

“This is… cute,” Erys said as she wandered the circle of mats, her voice carrying both curiosity and unease. This way of life was new to her, but the comfort of a safe place to rest was more than enough.

Alice and Eon chose two mats next to each other, leaving a space between them. Ryder trailed behind and dropped onto the mat between them at Alice’s side, collapsing with a relieved sigh. His body ached, his mind buzzed, but the mat’s simple pillow was enough.

The others settled in around him. Within minutes, Ryder’s eyes grew heavy, his thoughts blurring. The moment he laid down, sleep claimed him, swift and deep.