The hall was dimly lit, the flickering light of candles casting soft shadows on the polished wood and stone. Lyanna stood in the Hall of Remembrance, her fingers tracing the smooth grain of the wooden statue before her. The figure was of Oluru, carved with such intricate detail it almost seemed alive.

  "I need your wisdom," Lyanna whispered. "What would you do in times like this?"

  She was so close to ending the Avaris threat, so close to finally ridding Highhaven of a menace that had hung over them like a dark cloud for so long. But now, something new had cropped up. A potential danger to Highhaven and its people.

  Lyanna’s fingers curled into fists, glancing around the hall. The walls were lined with names of Guardians before her, those that had the burden of leadership, their legacy immortalized.

  She wanted to scream, wanted to lash out. She hadn’t asked for this. None of it.

  With a quick, sharp motion, she grabbed her white cloak from the nearby bench, the fabric a symbol of her role, her duty, and everything she never truly wanted. She draped it over her shoulders, the expectations heavy.

  Duty. Responsibility. Tradition.

  These were the things Oluru lived by. He tried to instill it in her when she was younger but she was too stubborn. Too free spirited.

  "I just want to be myself," she murmured. It was the first time in a long while she had allowed herself to admit that out loud.

  She had never asked for the mantle of leadership that had been thrust upon her after Oluru’s death. She had never asked to be the protector, the one who made the decisions, the one who had to carry the entire weight of her people’s hopes and fears.

  She wanted to live, to make her own choices, to stand without the constant pressure of what obscure rule she needed to follow or extraneous custom that needed respecting.

  But that wasn’t possible. She was the Guardian, and the Guardian didn’t have the luxury of choice.

  She would do her duty, because there was no other choice. There was no room for weakness, no time for personal desires. The fae needed her. Highhaven needed her. Oluru had sacrificed his life, she had no excuses.

  She didn’t want this burden. But she had inherited it nonetheless.

  The tears that had welled in her eyes threatened to fall, but she held them back, swallowing the lump in her throat. And she didn’t need to look up to know Grent was there.

  For such a large man, he had an uncanny ability to move quietly. More rogue, rather than ‘barbarian’.

  “New carving,” she murmured with a half-smile, wiping away the tears forming in her eyes. “Sawdust, you know?”

  He made his way to the bench and sat, creaking slightly under his weight.

  “Yeah,” he said with a knowing smile. “Whole bunch of sawdust here.”

  His presence, steady and solid, was something Lyanna knew she could rely on. She joined him at the bench, sitting in silence. But the moment stretched on, and finally, she spoke again, the words coming out more quietly this time.

  “Thank you for staying,” she said, her voice softer. “For wanting to continue the quest to kill Avaris.”

  Grent’s eyes met hers, and there was no hesitation in his gaze. His face was carved from stone, unreadable.

  “Terrance is busy,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. “If you couldn’t go, and Lagos doesn’t want to go, I’d go alone.”

  Lyanna chuckled, though it was a soft, almost sad sound. She leaned back against the bench, her gaze drifting to the wood grain in front of her. “You really like a fight, huh?” she asked.

  "Hell yeah," he answered. “But it’s also because…”

  He trailed off, and for a moment, Lyanna thought he might leave the thought unfinished. But Grent never left things unsaid when they mattered, and his next words came slowly, weighted with meaning.

  “This Master has hurt you.”

  Lyanna’s breath caught in her throat at the words.

  “Revenge?” she asked. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

  "No," he said, his voice low but firm. "It’s so he can’t hurt you again."

  She had always prided herself on standing strong, lifting herself with her own wings, dual blades in her hands. But Grent was offering her something she hadn’t known she needed.

  She wasn’t alone. She didn’t have to face it alone.

  Lyanna's heart fluttered in her chest, a familiar warmth spreading through her as she sat beside Grent. It had been years since she felt like this, unspoken words hanging in the silence between them. Her eyes met his, and for a brief moment, the world outside the Hall of Remembrance seemed to vanish. They could feel it. The longing.

  But before they could speak, before they could acknowledge said longing between them, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hall, pulling them both out of the fragile moment.

  Lagos and the keymaster entered, breaking the quiet between Lyanna and Grent. Lagos paused for a moment, glancing between them.

  “Did we interrupt something?” he asked.

  Lyanna’s cheeks flushed, and Grent’s expression was unreadable.

  They both answered almost simultaneously. “No,” their voices quick, a little too quick.

  “Like the moon and the sea,” he said.

  “What?” Grent glanced at him, clearly confused.

  “Ignore me, Grent. Just more Cheloran wisdom.”

  "What did you find?" Lyanna asked, addressing the keymaster.

  “I spoke with… Wyn,” the keymaster said. “After he was reincarnated. The square for the rank test was in a forest. And there... there were a lot of examinees killed. Too many. It was a… slaughter. Wyn... he doesn’t remember everything clearly, but what he does remember... it’s not good."

  Lyanna’s heart tightened at the thought of the rank test. She glanced at Grent, who was listening intently, his face hardening as the keymaster spoke.

  The keymaster continued, “I’ve also been corresponding with several other keymasters. The Anduran keymaster... and the Beastfolk keymasters… Both of them gave all their keys out. Newvale kept theirs, though. No other keymasters received extra rank test keys. There was no… no indication of what happened. It’s… It’s strange. All the tests went to the same square."

  "Is that weird?" Grent asked.

  The keymaster nodded. “Yes, usually, rank tests are for a small party, or even solo. In the same square. But never for so many."

  Lyanna's mind raced, her thoughts circling, trying to make sense.

  "But why?" she asked, her voice sharp with confusion. "Why would a bunch of keys appear for a Master? Is that even good for him? All those examinees... they might have killed him."

  But Grent, ever the pragmatist, wasn’t thinking of what ifs.

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  His voice was calm, but his words carried an unsettling truth. "Everyone who entered was killed." He nodded slowly, as if accepting the reality of what had happened. "So the Master is even more dangerous now. Having those extra kills would boost his power."

  Lyanna stood at the center of the Hall of Remembrance, her mind already set on the next move.

  "The keys spawned here should be kept," she said. "Any more kills would fuel that Master’s power."

  "Agreed," Grent muttered. "And we need to wrap up our business here, quickly. The longer we delay, the more dangerous it becomes."

  Lagos, who had been silently considering the situation, finally spoke up, his voice tinged with a sense of finality. "Avaris," he said. "Yes, the matter at hand."

  Lyanna’s gaze hardened as she met Grent’s eyes. "As Guardian, I must see this quest through to the end," she said firmly.

  The keymaster, hearing this conversation play out, held out four keys, the gold gleaming in the light. "For helping me with the crowd the other day," he said, "the keys are free."

  Grent glanced down at the keys. "There’s only three of us now."

  Lagos, always the one with an answer ready, spoke up. "A spare," he said. "Just in case."

  Before Lyanna could respond, a voice rang out, clear and sharp, from the shadows of the hall. "Maybe I can join you."

  The sudden sound froze everyone in place, and they turned in unison toward the source of the voice. There, standing just outside the range of their immediate vision, was a Birdfolk Owl, its eyes gleaming with intelligence. Its beak was sharp and curved, its wings folded neatly against its back. The figure was almost regal.

  Grent took a cautious step forward, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his weapon. "Who are you?"

  The Birdfolk Owl did not flinch at the question.

  "I am Strix," the Owl said. "I was Oluru’s teacher. I had heard the news of his passing."

  He paused, his gaze lingering on Lyanna for a moment. Then, his voice softened with sorrow. "I am sorry."

  She nodded, acknowledging the quiet respect that Strix offered. There was no need for words; they both understood the void left by Oluru’s absence.

  Strix stepped aside slightly, and beside him stood a muscular wizard, his build more like that of a warrior than a scholar. His robes did little to hide the solid, well-muscled frame beneath. He straightened, offering a respectful nod toward Lyanna and the others.

  "This is Shem, my apprentice," Strix said, a note of pride in his voice. "He has just recently passed the bronze rank test. "

  Shem’s gaze swept over the group, pausing only briefly on each of them before his eyes landed on Grent, whom they crossed paths back in Newvale. Shem gave him a quick, curt nod. Grent returned the gesture.

  Lyanna turned toward the others. She had learned to read people quickly, and in this moment, she could sense the weight of the decision that was about to be made. Everyone nodded in silent agreement.

  "We should head out now," Lyanna said.

  Grent grunted in acknowledgment, his gaze still shifting between Shem and Strix.

  "Ly, do you need to settle anything in Highhaven before we leave?" he asked.

  "It can all wait," she said.

  With that, the five of them—Lyanna, Grent, Lagos, Shem, and Strix—began to make their way out of Highhaven. Eti joined them at the entrance hall, his wings twitching lightly.

  But just as they reached the doors, the sound of footsteps came from behind them—slow, deliberate, but unmistakable. A large contingent of fae appeared in the entrance hall, their eyes glowing with a silent intensity.

  "What is this?" Lyanna’s voice was calm.

  A figure stepped forward from the contingent of fae. An elder fae, his silvered hair swept back and his robes flowing.

  Siron.

  Lyanna knew him well—too well. He had been the former Guardian of Highhaven. His was a presence that commanded reverence, that sought to preserve the old ways of their people with unflinching zeal.

  The memories of that time stirred in her chest, unbidden, as they always did when Siron was near. She had been so much younger then. And Grent. He had been part of it too. She didn’t want to think about it. Not now.

  Siron’s eyes, old and sharp, swept over them all as he finally spoke. “I was wondering where the Guardian is going in the time of need?”

  Lyanna met his gaze, her spine stiffening instinctively. "To finish Avaris," she said. She was not about to let Siron dictate her actions, not again.

  "Indeed," he said. "The Guardian of Highhaven’s duties are indeed to defend Highhaven. But they are also to guard the traditions of the fae."

  Lyanna’s eyebrow arched slightly.

  "Indeed," she repeated, her voice cool. "I will guard the traditions."

  She didn’t mean it—not in the way Siron thought. She could feel the bitterness rising in her chest, a quiet anger that had festered for years.

  She didn’t care for his traditions. Not anymore.

  "Really?" he asked. "The traditions of the fae wouldn’t include this motley crew." He waved a dismissive hand toward the group behind Lyanna—Lagos, Grent, and Strix—his eyes flicking over each of them with a barely concealed sneer. "A Cheloran far from the sea, a Birdfolk on land..." His gaze landed on Grent last, and the disgust in his voice was clear as he spat the words.

  "This human."

  Lyanna felt the tension in her body flare at the words. "This human." The words were sharp, dismissive, intended to be an insult.

  She turned her head slightly to the side, eyes meeting Grent’s, silently checking if he had been hurt by the comment. But there was nothing in his face. Nothing but the same silent determination, his shoulders still set, his posture still strong.

  "This is the best group for raiding Avaris’s square," Lyanna said, her voice steady.

  "We have a tank," she gestured toward Lagos, the martial arts grandmaster with the green shell.

  "Damage," she turned toward Grent, his massive frame looming silently beside her, his hands close to the hilt of his greatsword.

  “Magic,” she nodded toward Strix, the Owl who had joined them.

  "And support," she finished, gesturing at herself and the magic swirling subtly in her veins.

  "The Guardian," Siron’s voice rang out, and the entire room seemed to pause at the authority that laced every syllable. He stepped forward, his eyes scanning the group with barely concealed contempt. "A mere support. This is what I mean. The fae, reduced to support."

  She had known it would come to this—the ancient fae traditionalist would never accept her approach. Would never understand. He couldn’t fathom that the fae needed change to survive, instead of clinging to old-fashioned beliefs.

  Siron’s face twisted with disgust, and his next words were spoken with deliberate venom.

  "Blasphemy."

  Siron continued, his voice rising as he turned to address the crowd behind him. "A fae strike team would work better," he said. "In fact, I sent a team of green cloaks to deal with Avaris."

  The words fell like stones, each one heavier than the last. The mention of green cloaks—gold level fae rangers—made Lyanna’s chest tighten. They’ll be dead.

  "Avaris should be dead by now," Siron finished, his voice dripping with finality. "No need for these outsiders."

  "You sent them to their deaths," she interjected, cutting through Siron’s authoritarian tone. "The Masters are getting smarter. The fae needs to adapt."

  Siron’s eyes flashed with indignation, the old fae’s pride rising up to meet her challenge. "No," he snapped, his voice like the crack of a whip. "You will send the fae to their deaths, Guardian Lyanna. You, the one who mocks our traditions. You, who does not understand our history."

  "Your brother’s sacrifice," he said, his voice low, almost solemn, "noble as it is, was not needed."

  Anger boiled inside her before she could stop it. Her fists clenched at her sides, the muscles in her arms straining as the memories of Oluru’s sacrifice flashed through her mind.

  "If there were more than one Mother Crystal," he said. "If we had more to protect us—there would have been no need to sacrifice so much for one."

  "More Mother Crystals are against the ancient pact," Lyanna countered.

  "The ancient pact," he said, his words thick with disdain, "was forced upon us by humans. Time to break that pact."

  "No," she said firmly, "since the white cloak is mine now."

  Siron stood straighter, his expression unreadable.

  "Do you even want to be Guardian?" he asked.

  Lyanna hesitated. The question struck her more deeply than she wanted to admit. Did she want this role? The weight of the cloak, the responsibility of it all, was more than just the fabric she wore. It was everything.

  Did she want it? If she didn’t, she could do anything she wanted. No longer bound by the old customs.

  But how would the fae’s future look like with Siron in charge?

  Siron’s voice interrupted her thoughts, smooth and almost taunting. "I’m sure you don’t want to deal with the headache of the keys," he said, his words heavy with sarcasm. "Or the Mother Crystals summoning, or the pesky things like... fae-human relationships."

  The moment of silence that had hung between Lyanna and Siron was shattered by the sudden entrance of a fae messenger. His eyes were wide with the kind of news that couldn’t wait.

  “The strike team is back,” the fae said, his voice breathless.

  "With Avaris’s head, I presume?" Siron’s voice was smooth, arrogant.

  But the fae shook his head, his expression grim.

  "No," he said. “They are in the Well of Reincarnation."

  For a heartbeat, Siron froze, his face in disbelief.

  Grent, who had been silent through the exchange, took a step forward. He rose to his full height, towering over the gathered fae, his voice rough.

  "I’m going to kill Avaris," Grent said. There was no hesitation, no second thought in his voice. "And then I’m going back to the human lands."

  He turned to leave and the others, still in the hall, could only watch as Grent strode forward, determined and unwavering.

  Eti, Shem, Lagos and Strix followed closely behind, their steps not as heavy.

  "We’ll continue this when Avaris is dead," Lyanna said. Her eyes met Siron’s one last time, the weight of her words pressing into him like the edge of a blade.

  There was no room for debate. Not now.

  "Until then, you’ll stay out of my way."

  ******