In the early morning, as the first rays of dawn illuminated the kingdom of Nordhall, within a guest chamber of the Royal Palace, Clytos stood before a mirror, meticulously adjusting his attire. Eden, meanwhile, was busy packing their belongings, preparing for their departure.

  Once Eden finished, Clytos turned to him. "Are you finished packing?"

  "Yes, Master," Eden replied.

  Clytos gestured for Eden to approach. "Come here, Eden."

  As Eden drew near, Clytos began to smooth down Eden's hair and straighten his clothes, examining him with a critical eye, almost as father will do. "You look presentable, little brother. Prepare yourself. We are about to meet with my father." He then summoned the guards to take their baggage.

  After giving his last order, Clytos asks Eden.

  "Are you ready? Let us go, then."

  The Father King was seated in one of the guest palace's sitting rooms, surrounded by those of his sons who had traveled with him. His personal guard stood at attention, while Eva, Aylauna, Valerius, and Marcus were also present. Daeghir sat close to his father, enjoying a light breakfast of warm drinks, bread, and fruit.

  The Father King was in excellent spirits, and his sons, gathered around him, mirrored his mood, smiling and engaging in lighthearted conversation and shared laughter.

  At that moment, Clytos entered the sitting room, followed by Eden. Both bowed deeply to the King.

  "Good morning, Father," Clytos said. "Good morning, my siblings."

  "Good morning, my son," The Father King replied, his voice warm and welcoming. "Come, join us. Partake in some food."

  "My apologies, Father, but I must depart early."

  The King's expression shifted slightly, a hint of disappointment in his eyes. "Why? Will you not join us for the formal farewell?"

  "Unfortunately not," Clytos explained. "The permit Daeghir secured for me, concerning my research in the darkwood forests… it has a time limit, Father. Time is of the essence. I must leave promptly to make the most of it. And I am grateful to Daeghir for his assistance in this matter."

  Daeghir, swallowing a mouthful of food, interjected, "No thanks are due, brother. The thanks belong to our Father. He ordered it, when you asked him. I merely carried out Father's command."

  The King turned his attention to Clytos and asked.

  "And, who is standing beside you? Clytos…Who is this lad?"

  Clytos smiled, placing a hand on Eden's shoulder. "This, Father, is your son, Eden. He is my new assistant."

  Eden bowed low. "It is an honor to meet you, our Father. I am overjoyed to be in your presence."

  The Father King smiled back. "Ah, Eden. You are fortunate that Clytos accepted you. He does not take on just anyone. Pay close attention to him, learn from him. You are in the company of a great brother."

  "I shall certainly do so, Your Majesty," Eden replied, his voice filled with respect.

  The King chuckled. "He's a shy one. He reminds me of you, Clytos," he said, and light laughter rippled through the room, from those of his present sons. He continued, addressing Clytos, "But I am pleased, Clytos, that you have finally found some companionship."

  Clytos responded, "In truth, Father, Eden found me. He was impressed after I delivered a sermon at the Grand Temple. And he was… persistent… in his desire for me to be his mentor. And I, in truth, Father, am pleased to mentor this promising young man."

  The King nodded, his expression approving. "I am very happy to hear that. I wish you both a safe and fruitful journey. You have my leave. May you be accompanied by safety."

  Clytos and Eden bowed once more to the King and then departed from the royal sitting room.

  ***

  Within the royal palace of Nordhall, the formal farewell ceremony was underway. The King, accompanied by Prince Alaric, proceeded towards the palace entrance, followed by his retinue – except for Daeghir, who remained behind with the other nobles and princes of Nordhall, part of the official send-off party.

  Prince Alaric offered his farewell, his voice filled with gracious formality. "Thank you for your visit, Your Majesty. Your presence has graced our Queen Mother, and we are deeply grateful for it. And also joyful, because of…And we are also delighted by the peace established between our northern kingdoms and your own."

  The King replied, his voice resonated with regal authority. "I, too, thank you, Your Highness, for your generous hospitality. I am most pleased to have been here. Your kingdom has hosted an exceptional celebration and race. We pray to the Gods that peace may endure between us. Farewell, Your Highness. May the Gods protect you."

  Prince Alaric bowed his head respectfully. "I wish you a safe journey, Your Majesty. May the Gods preserve you."

  The imposing royal procession, returning to Aslilia, departed, led by the King's carriage. Crowds of Nordhall's citizens lined the streets, offering a warm and enthusiastic farewell. They cheered and waved, their voices echoing through the city.

  The King, acknowledging their affection, raised his hand in a gesture of parting.

  ***

  Clytos and Eden rode north, their horses climbing through the breathtaking, yet increasingly chilling, landscape of the Nordhall kingdom. They journeyed towards the infamous darkwood forest, the towering peaks around them a stark contrast to the lush valleys below. A short distance behind them, an empty cart, escorted by a small contingent of soldiers and attendants, followed at a more sedate pace.

  "Master," Aelius asked, his voice tinged with apprehension, "is it true what they say? About the dangers of the darkwood forest?"

  Clytos nodded grimly. "Yes, absolutely. It is dangerous. But it is also rich… rich in rare creatures. Like the Skittermaw."

  Eden's face paled. "Don't tell me… you're going to the darkwood forest for Skittermaw?"

  Clytos chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Don't worry, Eden. This isn't my first time. And yes, we are going there to hunt Skittermaw. I need them. They are… an essential component… in creating more of the detached wombs. I promised my father he would never have to be pregnant again."

  "You are truly amazing, Master," Eden said, a mix of awe and unease in his voice. "But… why the forests in Nordhall? Why not the forests in Aslilia?"

  "The Skittermaw are intelligent creatures," Clytos explained. "We've hunted them extensively in Aslilia, so they've become more cautious, more elusive. They hide deep within the earth, in the mountains. But the neighboring kingdoms… they have no interest in hunting them. So, our chances of capturing some are… higher. But, and take note of this, that… what I had just told you about? All this…" he paused, lowering his voice, "…is strictly confidential. Keep it to yourself."

  "Of course, Master. You can be assured of my discretion."

  Clytos, after a moment of silence, changed the subject. "Since you've asked me so many questions, it's my turn to ask one."

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  Eden, caught slightly off guard, replied, "Huh?"

  "Have you… participated… in our Father's intimate rituals… before?" Clytos asked, his voice carefully neutral.

  Eden's discomfort was evident. "What… what makes you say that, Master?"

  "Aylauna's expression," Clytos said. "As if she'd seen you before. And your own demeanor… in front of our Father. You weren't… flustered. As if you'd… interacted… with them before."

  Eden was silent for a long moment, then said quietly, "And if I told you… would it change my relationship with you?"

  Clytos shook his head slightly. "So, you have participated before," he said softly. "How did it feel, Eden? At that moment?"

  Eden's voice was barely a whisper. "Fear. Terror. Afterwards… sadness. But, Master, I don't want you to think I despise my sacred duty."

  "On the contrary, brother," Clytos said, his voice filled with a surprising gentleness. "You should despise it. I'm sorry for all you've endured. I admire your courage, that even after all that, you chose to remain here, to work in the palace. A place that… must constantly remind you of that darkness."

  "Yes," Eden said. "I had friends. They… they made it bearable. They helped me through it."

  "Then you are fortunate," Clytos said. "Not everyone has loyal friends. Do you miss them?"

  "Yes," Eden replied. "They're in the city of Eryndor, working in the mines. I hope to see them again someday."

  "I'm certain you will," Clytos said. "Now, let us leave aside sorrow and focus on our objective."

  With that, he spurred his horse to a faster pace, and Eden followed, heading deeper into the ominous shadows of the darkwood forest.

  ***

  During the day, within Valerius's palace in Eryndor, Lysander sat in a secluded corner of the palace gardens, absorbed in a book. The sounds of the bustling city were muted here, replaced by the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant splash of a fountain. Amara approached him, her footsteps quiet on the paved pathway, and seated herself on a nearby bench without a word. "I'm pleased to see you taking the time to… cultivate your mind, Lysander," she said, a hint of something unreadable in her voice.

  Lysander glanced at her, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.

  Amara continued, seemingly oblivious to his reaction. "And Davos, tirelessly honing his physique. While Bran… cultivates relationships with the palace staff." She paused. "I don't know how long you all intend to ignore me. You, especially, Lysander, know that I had no choice. It was all Valerius's doing."

  Lysander lowered his book, his voice cold. "Amara, if you're looking for my forgiveness for what happened, you're mistaken. Personally, I don't hate you. I understand your circumstances, and what happened to us… I see it as a battle lost. My wounds might be healing, but my brothers… theirs are still fresh. Perhaps they haven't experienced that kind of betrayal before. So, out of loyalty to them, I'm holding back. When you earn their forgiveness, you'll have mine as well. "

  Amara, pressed him "How do I earn their trust again, all?"

  Lysander replied, "The truth is, they saw you as a friend. After what happened, asking for forgiveness... that's difficult. True forgiveness isn't asked for, Amara, it's given. Not with words, but with actions."

  A servant approached them, interrupting their tense conversation. "My lord, Valerius requests your presence. He wishes to see you all immediately."

  Valerius, meanwhile, was pacing frantically in a large chamber within the palace, his agitation evident. The mine's foreman stood nearby, looking apprehensive.

  Lysander, Davos, Bran, and Amara entered.

  "Finally, you're here," Valerius snapped, his gaze settling on Lysander. "You. Lysander, correct?"

  "Yes, my lord," Lysander replied, his voice calm and respectful.

  "Good," Valerius said, a predatory smile spreading across his face. "You… are now in charge of the mine."

  Valerius turned to the foreman. "Lysander, from this moment forward, will be your superior. Is that understood?"

  The foreman, his voice trembling, protested. "But… but, my lord, he's just a… boy! He has no experience!"

  Valerius's smile vanished, replaced by a mask of cold fury. He lashed out, striking the foreman across the face with his heavily-ringed right hand. The foreman staggered back, reeling from the blow. Valerius, however, also cried out in pain, clutching his hand – the rings had cut into his own flesh.

  "Damn you!" Valerius roared, his voice shaking with rage and pain. "You fish-faced fool! You made my own hand bleed!"

  He launched himself at the foreman, raining down a series of blows – punches and kicks – fueled by a seemingly uncontrollable fury. "It's your fault!" he screamed between blows. "All of this… this chaos… is your fault! Your stupidity has brought me to this! I am humiliated!"

  He continued to beat the foreman mercilessly, his voice a torrent of abuse and accusation. Finally, exhausted and covered in the foreman's blood, he stood back, panting.

  "Damn your filthy blood!" he shrieked, wiping his hands on his already-stained tunic. "You've ruined my clothes! My hands!" He turned to the guards, his voice a venomous command. "Get him out of my sight! Take him away! Now!"

  The guards, accustomed to Valerius's volatile temper, hastily dragged the battered and bleeding foreman from the room.

  Valerius, his breathing still ragged, turned back to Lysander, his voice regaining some of its composure. "You," he said, pointing a bloodstained finger at him, "are now in charge of the mine. Understood? You are responsible for the miners. You've worked there, among them, You've seen how they work, you understand their… grievances… everything about them. I believe you are the… best equipped… to manage them."

  "Understood, my lord," Lysander replied, his expression carefully neutral. "I am honored by this responsibility and will endeavor to fulfill it to your satisfaction."

  "Good," Valerius said. "Good. That's what I want to hear."

  Bran, still stunned by the brutal display of violence he had just witnessed, could barely process what was happening. He looked down at his own shaking hand, then at the blood trail leading to where he had been dragged. He starts seeing illusion from that scenery… He felt…

  Valerius snapped his fingers, bringing Bran back to the present with a jolt. "Hey! You! What's your name?"

  Bran, his voice trembling slightly, stammered, "B-Bran, my lord."

  Valerius paused, as he started processing…asking and observing… then asking and ordering. "Do you have a problem with Amara?"

  Bran, glancing nervously at Amara, who stood beside him, her expression unreadable, stammered, "A problem? No! No, my lord, no problem at all. We're… we're good. There's no issue. We're… friends now. Absolutely. Aren't we, Amara?"

  Amara, meeting his gaze, replied with a calm, controlled voice, "Indeed. We are friends now. There are no problems between us."

  "Good," Valerius said, seemingly satisfied. "Good. And you, strong man," he began. "What's your name?"

  Davos replied, "Davos, my lord."

  “Lysander, go now and do whatever you work in that mine for. And you three, with me,”

  Valerius, ignoring, he’s accompanied now. Followed by Bran, Amara, and Davos. Turned to leave. He led them to a hidden passage, a secret corridor leading deep beneath the palace. Finally, they reached a massive vault, its heavy door secured by an intricate locking mechanism. Inside, the vault was a treasure trove, overflowing with sacks of gold coins, stacked in different shapes and sizes. Chests, also filled with…

  Valerius gestured towards the wealth with a flourish. "Get, start now. Take out six of the large sacks. Each of you will carry two."

  The weight of the gold-filled sacks was astonishing. Each was almost too heavy for a single person to manage comfortably. Amara struggled visibly with her burden. Davos, noticing her difficulty, stepped forward and, with a grunt of effort, took one of her sacks, now carrying three in total.

  Once they had emerged from the vault, the sacks were loaded onto a deliberately nondescript cart, pulled by two rather ordinary-looking horses.

  Valerius, his voice laced with a mixture of threat and command, addressed them. "You will transport this cart to a specific location. You depart this evening." He handed Bran a map. "Follow this precisely. You will find a man with… somewhat golden hair – Basly. and a… red banner, insignia. A marker of those… people.. You will deliver all of this gold to him. I have chosen this… unassuming… cart to avoid attracting attention. From bandits… or even… patrols. Both, on those roads… pose a danger. Be vigilant. Be careful. And if you fail in this task…" he paused, his gaze hardening, "…I will ensure your brother, Lysander, pays the price. Is that clear?"

  Bran, swallowing hard, stammered, "You… you mean… you'll use him as a… hostage?"

  "Yes," Valerius said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. "Consider it an incentive not to fail. Failure is not an option. And you," he turned his gaze to Bran, his voice hardening, "if you're attacked, you will say exactly what I tell you, nothing more, nothing less." He grabbed Bran's face, his fingers digging into his cheeks. "You'll tell them you were ambushed by renegade soldiers. That you were transporting this gold in this unassuming cart to avoid both Marcus's troops and the bandits who work with him. Is that perfectly clear?"

  Bran, his voice strained, managed a choke, "Yes… yes, my lord. Clear."

  Valerius released him, his expression still menacing. "I don't expect you to actually succeed. But I hope, with all my heart, that you do. That you deliver that gold, intact, complete. Not a single coin missing. Because if anything is missing… you will die. I will die. Lysander will die. Everyone will die. So… guard it with your lives. Safe travels."

  He turned and walked away, leaving Bran, Amara, and Davos staring after him, stunned by the sudden turn of events, and the weight of the impossible task that had been thrust upon them.

  Amara, breaking the silence, said softly, "I think… we should rest until evening."

  Bran and Davos, still reeling, could only nod in numb agreement.