The aftermath of the battle left the eastern farmlands eerily silent, save for the groans of injured guards and the crackle of dying embers. The air, once thick with the stench of blood and ozone, now carried the faint, clean scent of the Deacon's lingering Holy Magic.
The ground was a graveyard of shattered steel and charred flesh. The carcasses of the Rank 3 Iron-Quill Boars lay in blackened heaps, their metallic hides cracked open from Teresa's relentless flames. Bristle Hogs and Razor Pigs were scattered across the mud, some broken by Captain Ludwig's root barricades, others pierced by wind-guided arrows or flash-frozen by Verdehile's ice.
The sheer scale of the devastation was staggering, a stark reminder of how close Althea had come to being wiped off the map.
Already, the surviving guards and villagers were moving through the wreckage. Captain Ludwig, his shoulder heavily bandaged, barked quiet orders as men dragged the wounded to makeshift stretchers. Others worked to salvage usable timber from the splintered fences and gather the Aetherborns' mana cores, their faces pale but determined.
Garrick wiped the sweat and soot from his brow, his wind aura finally dissipating completely. He turned to the exhausted group near the tree line. "Let's talk at my house," he said, his voice rough but steady.
Clei hesitated for a fraction of a second. Every survival instinct urged him to turn and walk back into the forest, to vanish before anyone could look too closely at his face or his gloves. But he knew running now would only raise more questions. Surely, they won't recognize me, right?
He fell into step behind Teresa as the group made their way toward the village center. Elycia walked beside her father, her posture rigid, but her emerald eyes kept drifting back to Clei. Her thoughts were a tangled mess of hope, fear, and a heavy, aching guilt she couldn't quite name.
The Village Head's house was a sturdy, two-story structure of dark timber and stone, built to withstand both harsh winters and stray Aetherborn attacks. Inside, Garrick led them to a private study lined with maps, ledgers, and the faint smell of old parchment and dried herbs. He closed the heavy oak door, shutting out the noise of the recovering village, and gestured for them to sit.
"Things are getting dangerous," Garrick opened, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Something that should not have appeared... has appeared again. This attack wasn't natural at all. The suddenness, the sheer numbers... it's wrong."
Deacon Vance nodded slowly, his hands folded in his lap. "The corruption on that mammoth confirmed it. What we're dealing with isn't just feral Aetherborns. It's the Umbral Blight."
He looked at each of them in turn, his expression grave. "Twenty years ago, the Umbral Blight nearly consumed this world. The true architects of that nightmare were entities known as Phantoms. They are parasitic, semi-spiritual creatures that burrow into the mind and soul, devouring consciousness and corrupting the victim's mana from the inside out. When the process is complete, humans and Aetherborn alike become Hollowed—empty, painless husks driven by a foreign will."
He paused, his gaze drifting to the darkened window. "What we fought today echoes the Blight of twenty years ago. The method is different, but only a Phantom could cause that corruption."
Vance hesitated, his gaze flicking toward Toshi and Verdehile. For a moment, he seemed to consider asking the younger ones to step out. This was heavy, dangerous knowledge. But he shook his head slightly. There's no need to hide it. What they need to face, they will eventually face. But I hope not.
"There are rumors," Vance continued, his voice tightening, "that years after the Umbral Blight, a group of people formed a cult calling themselves the Eclipse Ascendancy. We still don't know their ultimate goal, but we know that they have been using the Phantoms, turning them into weapons."
He let out a dry, humorless breath. "I confess, I find it hard to believe they could mount an attack like this. For twenty years, the Holy Church and the kingdoms have purged every remnant of the Blight. If the Ascendancy truly exists, they should just be fractured remnants. Weak. Hiding in the shadows."
Garrick's jaw tightened. He frowned, his calloused fingers drumming against the wood. "Remnants or not, they just hit a village with a Rank 4 Alpha. They sent an entire Aetherborn horde today. What if they send an even bigger force tomorrow? We won't be able to handle it, Vance."
Vance inclined his head. "I know. I have already sent a letter to the capital to let His Holiness Reimus know."
Teresa interjected, her voice calm but firm. "I was still young during the Umbral Blight, protected by my family. Word of a returning Blight can cause widespread panic, so we need to investigate quietly. I will also send a message to our Dean at Ignis Academy. He was on the frontlines during the war and knows far more about this than we do."
After some discussion, the immediate plans were set. The heavy tension in the room eased slightly. Garrick leaned back, his shoulders dropping as the weight of command settled into something more personal. He looked toward Teresa and her students, his expression softening.
"I owe you all a debt. You guys protected the village. A lot of lives were saved because of your actions today." His gaze shifted to Clei, who stood slightly behind Teresa, arms crossed, posture guarded. "And you. You fought valiantly. May I know who you are?"
Clei felt the eyes of the room settle on him. He reached up and slowly lowered the bottom half of his mask, revealing his mouth and jawline, but kept the rest shadowed.
"I'm Clei... Vane," he said, his voice carefully measured. He glanced at Teresa, then added, "A new student of Ignis Academy."
Teresa's eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly. A new student? He hadn't submitted any enrollment paperwork, nor had he spoken to the academy's admissions office. But she said nothing. Once they reached Anatolia, the Vice-Dean would sort it out. She'd ask him about it later.
Toshi, however, couldn't contain his grin. He sat up straighter, puffing out his chest. "Clei is my brother! He helped us escape the same Mammoth just a week ago. Took down three Rank 3s before we even reached the tree line. He's stronger than half the seniors at Ignis!"
Garrick's expression shifted. A faint, almost painful memory flickered behind his eyes. Ten years ago. A mission in Lydia that had kept him away from the village for weeks. When he returned, the whispers had already started. The outcast. The cursed child. Gone.
He looked at Clei now. The boy was older, taller, his posture hardened by years of survival. His hair was darker than he remembered, swept back and slightly unruly, and his eyes held a guarded, amber sharpness that felt entirely different from the quiet, wide-eyed boy he once knew. But something in the shape of his face, in the set of his shoulders... it tugged at a string Garrick thought had been cut long ago.
Garrick's gaze dropped to Clei's left hand. The thick, fire-resistant glove was pulled tight, fingers curled slightly inward. Doubts began to form in his mind.
"Where are you from?" Garrick asked, his voice quieter now.
Clei's breath hitched, just for a fraction of a second. "Nightwood," he answered smoothly. "It was destroyed during an Aetherborn rampage years ago. I've been on the road since."
Garrick's doubts lingered, heavy and unspoken. Nightwood was deep in the forest, far from Althea. But the timeline... the age... it was too close to be a coincidence. He forced a small, weary smile. "Oh. Your name... it just reminds me of an orphan child who used to play with my daughter."
Clei's heart hammered against his ribs. He didn't recognize me. The relief was immediate, but it was quickly suffocated by the stifling weight of Garrick's lingering gaze on his gloved left hand. He kept his voice even. "I've been traveling with my father since we escaped during the rampage. This is my first time in Althea."
Beside the table, Elycia felt her pulse quicken. The story checked out. The timeline fit. But something in her chest tightened, a quiet, instinctive certainty that this guarded boy was the same one who used to chase her through the church courtyard. She wanted to speak. To ask. To bridge the decade of silence between them.
But she bit her tongue. What if it is him? The thought was cold and sharp. Wouldn't he be angry? After everything the village did... after everything I did... I turned away too. I didn't stop them.
Garrick nodded, letting the moment pass. He turned back to Clei, his tone sincere. "You have my thanks. I heard you stepped in when that boar charged Elycia. And that explosion... it bought us the seconds we needed to keep Captain Ludwig alive. You saved lives today, Clei."
Clei offered a faint, polite smile and gave a single nod. "Just doing what needed to be done."
Deacon Vance turned his attention to Teresa, offering a tired, genuine smile. "And you, Teacher. Your Domain held the line when our stamina was failing. Without your fire, the farmlands would be lost."
Teresa let out a soft, breathy chuckle, her dignified posture relaxing just a fraction. "Honestly, Deacon, I didn't expect to have a fight like that today. Fortunately, we were able to hold on and defeat the mammoth."
Garrick clapped his hands together, breaking the heavy atmosphere. "Enough of that for now. Everyone is tired, and the servants have already prepared dinner. I hope you'll all stay and eat with us."
The group shared a filling, warm meal. Clei kept mostly to himself, only exchanging a few quiet words with Toshi, who was too busy eating to notice his friend's distant mood.
After dinner, Clei stayed behind Teresa as they left the house and made their way toward the temporary lodging the village had prepared for the academy group. The evening air was cool, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth.
"Today has been unexpected," Teresa said quietly, her eyes forward. "We leave early tomorrow toward Anatolia. The road is long, so rest well."
Clei nodded. "Understood."
In truth, he wanted nothing more than to collapse into a bed. Too many things had happened today. The battle, the Deacon's words, Garrick's piercing gaze... his mind was a tangled, exhausting mess.
Teresa, Verdehile, and Toshi had already said their goodnights and headed down the hallway to their rooms. Clei had followed them to the lodge, and the staff had prepared a room for him, but instead of going to bed, he found himself lingering in the quiet, dimly lit lounge.
He sat on a worn leather couch, staring blankly at the dying embers in the stone fireplace. The warmth did little to settle the cold knot of anxiety in his chest. He was about to finally stand up and head to his room when a soft voice broke the silence.
"Uhm... Clei? Can we talk?"