Caelid City was a modest settlent of twenty thousand souls, perched strategically at the mouth of the Vanya River Valley. It functioned as the throat of the waterway leading to Liurnia and served as Altus's shield against the erratic unrest of Mt. Gelmir. Two hundred miles to the northeast lay the Grand Lift of Dectus—the continent's most formidable natural chasm and a gateway to the heavens.
Despite its size, the city was a vital organ in the Golden Dynasty's body. Its regents were always drawn from the most entrenched noble houses, turning the seat into a quiet battlefield where factions clashed for influence.
For three years, the city had been under the thumb of Baron Hectov Ofnir of Lunte. The Baron's true fief lay in Lunte Town on the Altus Plateau, but political tides were fickle. While the Ofnir na was etched in the dynasty's history through military blood, their enemies were equally monolithic. They might tolerate an Ofnir holding a key border post, but they would never allow one to take permanent root there.
"Has Clavell brought the lizards from Farum Azula to the camp yet?" Hectov stood atop the city wall, his back to the scout who had just arrived.
The sun was sinking, casting an ochre glow over the Baron's stiff beard and weathered skin. With his massive, burly fra, he appeared less like a man and more like a daunting statue carved from the very rock of the wall.
"Yes," the scout reported, bowing low. "On the way to the camp, Prince Lucia specifically invited the internal affairs officer to walk alongside him. The two seed to be speaking quite comfortably."
"Hmph. He always did have a stomach for monsters." A thick vein of disdain pulsed in Hectov's voice. "The borders are screaming, and yet we waste precious supplies to coddle these beasts. If it weren't for—"
He cut himself off abruptly, waving a hand in irritation. "Enough. All of you, dismissed!"
The guards retreated with visible relief. Everyone knew the Ancient Dragon Prince was little more than a high-born hostage, but he was a demigod nonetheless. There were words Baron Hectov could get away with saying that would cost a common soldier his head.
"Wait," Hectov called out to a departing guard. "When Clavell returns, tell him he is to stay within the city walls. If I find even a shred of evidence that he's been whispering to the rebels, he knows what follows."
"Understood." The guard accepted the order with a grimace, already wondering how to deliver a death threat to the internal affairs officer without sounding like a butcher.
Ten miles east, the Farum Azula mission had settled into a new camp. After the Godskin ambush, the periter was a fortress of sharpened stakes and lightning-aspected barriers. For a force of Storm Knights and Wyvern Warriors, this wasn't just a camp; it was a war zone waiting to happen.
A bonfire roared in the center of the site. After Clavell had finished the handover, Lucia pulled him into a conversation. Aegis and Guilel sat like silent statues on either side of their prince.
"A Perfur from Leyndell? Truly?" Lucia raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued.
"I was," Clavell nodded, his voice humble. "My master was a Court Perfur. I studied the arts of spice and dicine under him from the age of twelve. When he passed, I took his mantle in the Royal Capital for ten years. It wasn't until five years ago that I was... relocated here."
Lucia leaned forward slightly. "A disciple of the Court? Her Majesty Marika does not throw away such talent lightly. Why demote you to a border post like Caelid?" He offered a small, disarming smile. "Pure curiosity, of course. You need not answer if it pains you."
"Your Highness is kind," Clavell replied, his expression turning distant. "The truth is simple, if a bit pathetic. I saved soone I shouldn't have. A Misbegotten."
"A powerful figure in the Capital wanted the creature dead. I found it on the brink and chose to heal it. I expected to be erased for my defiance, but an order ca from the palace. They took the creature away, and I was spared the sword—only to be stripped of my rank and sent here a few days later."
"Do you rember its na?" Lucia asked.
"He never said, and I never asked. I have treated a thousand broken things, Prince. I cannot rember them all."
Lucia felt a twinge of pity. In the shadow of the Erdtree, the Misbegotten and the On were treated as filth, cast into the sewers or worked to death as slaves. Only the Perfurs, whose original calling was to heal the sick and soothe the dying, still saw the humanity in the "cursed."
"You have been here five years," Lucia said softly. "Have you found a ho here? A family?"
He had spent the afternoon asking about the city's defenses and the brewing demi-human rebellions. He had ant the question as a gentle close to the evening, a bit of warmth after a day of cold politics.
He didn't expect Clavell's face to collapse.
The man looked up, and in the flickering firelight, his skin looked like rotted, withered wood. His eyes reflected the dying embers, searching Lucia's face with a desperate, frantic intensity.
He spoke in a voice like grinding stones. "I adopted a daughter. She died last year."
Lucia's mouth moved, but no sound ca out. The air between them had suddenly beco very thin.
A short ti later, Clavell's dejected figure disappeared into the darkness of the trail under the full moon. Guilel, who had watched the entire exchange with mounting annoyance, finally spoke.
"He was just an ordinary human, Lucia. Why the interrogation? And why did you send Aegis to shadow him?"
"Because," Lucia said, turning to look at her, his eyes cold and sharp. "He wants to use as a blade to kill Hectov. And I think I'd rather save his life instead."
Guilel froze, her heroic eyes wide with confusion. "What?"
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