William remained leaning against the cool stone, giving Julia the space her vulnerability demanded. He simply watched, listened, offering the silent support of his presence as she wrestled with the words. After another moment staring into the gurgling stream, she seemed to find her anchor.

  “My father,” Julia began again, her voice steadier now, but tinged with a deep, ingrained sadness, “is Lord Valerius Blackcombe, current head of the family.” The name landed with a certain weight, even if William didn't grasp its full significance yet. “He is… influential. One of the wealthiest merchants in Aver City, with ties reaching deep into the Royal Court, the ministries… He wields considerable power.” She paused, the word 'power' seeming to leave a bitter taste. “He was always ambitious, driven. Wealth, prestige, standing… those were always the metrics by which he measured success. But the war… especially after Shendek fell, after the true scale of the Dark Legion became undeniable… something in him shifted. Hardened.” William saw a flicker of pain in her eyes, the memory clearly sharp. “The ambition curdled into obsession. Obsession with securing the family’s position, with ensuring our survival, as he put it… no matter the cost to anyone else.” The last words were quiet but laced with a venomous bitterness. “He saw the war not as a tragedy demanding sacrifice, but as… an unparalleled business opportunity.”

  She described it then, her voice gaining a chilling detachment that barely masked the fury beneath. How the Blackcombe merchant fleets, once trading in timber, spices, and textiles, rapidly pivoted. How they used their wealth and connections to secure near monopolies on essential resources, iron ore for steel, rare reagents for alchemical supplies, even grain shipments needed to feed the swelling armies and displaced refugees. “Leveraging wartime disruption for market consolidation and price manipulation,” William’s mind automatically translated. “High risk, high reward strategy. Ethically reprehensible, but often brutally effective in destabilized systems.”

  Julia spoke of warehouses filled with hoarded medical supplies while healers like Mendal struggled with shortages. Of weapon and armour contracts secured through backroom deals, often fulfilled with substandard goods at inflated prices. Of leveraging debt and desperation to acquire land and assets from families who had lost everything to the war. It was a calculated, insidious corruption, spreading like a blight through the heart of the kingdom’s war effort, all under the veneer of patriotic enterprise.

  “Our family,” Julia continued, a deep shame colouring her voice now, “has a long history. Mages, scholars, advisors to kings… using our influence, our innate magical talent, largely for Aver’s benefit. That was the legacy.” She gestured vaguely, a sweep of her hand encompassing centuries. “But my father… generations ago, the family shifted focus towards trade, seeing it as a more reliable path to sustained wealth. Still, there was honour. Before… before this. He anticipated the conflict, yes, but saw only profit. Resources that could have bolstered the kingdom's magic users were instead poured into controlling the mundane means of war, iron, steel, grain. Creating artificial scarcity, driving prices ever higher.” She shook her head, looking down at her clenched fists resting on the stone railing. “Deliberate supply chain bottlenecking to maximize profit margins during crisis,” William analysed grimly. “Textbook exploitation. Likely a case study in some future Averian business ethics course, assuming the kingdom survives long enough to establish universities again.”

  “I tried,” Julia whispered, the sound raw, vulnerable. “I argued with him. Pleaded. I showed him reports from the Guild, testimony from refugees… the real cost of his profiteering in lives, not just coin. I reminded him of our ancestors, the oaths they swore…” Her voice cracked, the facade crumbling. “He wouldn’t listen. He called me naive. Idealistic. Blind to the 'realities' of survival.” She laughed then, a short, broken sound devoid of humour. “He accused me of weakness. Of disloyalty to the family name. Of betrayal.” The argument, she recounted briefly, had escalated, accusations turning to shouts echoing through the cold marble halls of their mansion, ending in ultimatums and finally, heartbreak. “Trust shattered completely. So… I left. That night. Walked out with nothing but the clothes I wore and the magic I knew.”

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  She found her way to the Adventurers Guild. “Guildmaster Borin,” she said, a flicker of warmth returning to her voice, “he… he knew my grandfather. Respected what the Blackcombes used to stand for. He saw the change in my father, the rot setting in.” Borin, gruff and battle-scarred, hadn't offered pity, but something better, purpose. “He saw I still believed in the old ways, in duty. He recognized my talent, my anger… He gave me a place. Training. A new 'family' of sorts, bound by shared danger, not blood and greed. He gave me assignments, often far from the capital,” she admitted, “a way to use my magic against the Darkness… and perhaps, a way to atone for the darkness my own family now represented.”

  She fell silent, breathing deeply, the effort of the confession leaving her looking drained but somehow… lighter. “I haven't been back since that day,” she confessed quietly, turning to look fully at William, her green eyes filled with a complex mixture of pain, defiance, and lingering regret. “Haven't spoken to any of them. Couldn't bear it. Couldn't face the disappointment… or worse, the indifferent dismissal. Coming back now, even just to the outskirts…” She gestured vaguely back towards the city proper. “It brings it all flooding back. The shame. The anger. The unresolved...” She trailed off again. “That's why I took the long route. Why I kept looking over my shoulder. The Blackcombe name carries weight here, William. My father has eyes and ears everywhere, informants, debtors, loyal retainers bought and paid for. They would report my presence instantly. I… I wasn’t ready for a confrontation. Not yet.”

  William listened, absorbing the weight of her story. The puzzle pieces of her earlier anxiety clicked firmly into place. The political manoeuvring, the ethical compromises, the family betrayal, these were dynamics he understood, albeit from the bloodless context of corporate warfare and hostile takeovers. The stakes here were just infinitely higher. He felt a profound sense of empathy, mixed with admiration for her courage in breaking away. Data received: Root cause of Subject Julia's anomalous behaviour = Severe ethical conflict leading to familial estrangement and justified paranoia regarding father's influence within the capital. Emotional impact assessment: High. He realized, with a startling clarity, that his earlier manipulation felt cheap now, unnecessary. He also realized the depth of trust she had just placed in him, a stranger from another reality. Trust level: Significantly elevated. User responsibility: Handle with extreme care.

  “Thank you, Julia,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm, meeting her vulnerable gaze directly. “For telling me. I can only imagine how difficult that was.” He paused, choosing his next words with care, wanting to offer support without sounding cliched. “I'm not going to pretend I understand noble family politics or the pressures you faced. But I understand… disillusionment. Betrayal. And I recognize the immense courage it took to walk away, to choose your own path based on what you believe is right, especially when it costs you everything.” He hesitated, then reached out, gently placing a hand on her forearm where it rested on the stone railing. A simple gesture of connection, of solidarity. “Your family… war changes people, warps them. Fear is a powerful corrosive. It doesn't excuse their actions,” he added quickly, “not at all. But their choices don't define you. Your actions do.” He gave her arm a light squeeze before withdrawing his hand. “You're not alone in this, Julia. You have Edward. And… whatever help I can offer, you have me. We'll face whatever comes in the capital together. When you're ready.”

  He offered a faint, self-deprecating smile. “And for what it's worth… you were right to be angry earlier. Faking the injury relapse, even just exaggerating it… it was a poor method. My motive truly was concern, wanting to give you a chance to talk away from Edward if you needed it, but… the execution was flawed.” Honesty subroutine complete. Trust coefficient hopefully stabilized or improved.

  A small, genuine smile touched Julia's lips, reaching her eyes this time, chasing away some of the lingering shadows. The tension visibly eased further from her shoulders. “Thank you, William,” she murmured, the words carrying real weight. She took another deep, steadying breath, seemingly lighter now. “It… helps. To have said it.” She straightened up. “We should probably find Edward. See what news he has from Guildmaster Borin.”

  The immediate emotional storm had passed, leaving a fragile calm in its wake. But the underlying problem, the rot within the capital, the influence of the Blackcombe family, and Julia’s precarious position caught between loyalty, shame, and duty, remained, a complex variable now added to William’s rapidly expanding model of this world. He had no idea how deeply he would soon be dragged into those family politics himself.

  For now, though, the next step was clear. Rejoin their companion, face the immediate challenges of Aver City, and begin the task they were sent here to do. Together.