When the massive, ornate main doors of the manor creaked open with a deep thud, the strange, cool breeze of the colossal cave outside seeped into the spacious entrance hall for a moment. The sunlight reflecting from that magical sky, which covered the cave's ceiling like an endless dome, cut through the dimness inside like a sword. The first person to step through the door was, as expected, Yuria.
Her black robe billowed slightly, but not the slightest sound came from her footsteps. Her black-green eyepatch looked straight ahead. She did not say a single word to the manor's residents waiting for them inside, nor did she even give a nod of acknowledgment. With her usual eerie, ice-cold calmness, she swiftly crossed the large hall and disappeared within seconds among the deep corridors where the shadows thickened.
Lavinia, who entered right behind her, was in a state entirely opposite to Yuria's silence. Her ocean-blue eyes were shooting fire. With the tips of her fingers, she was trying to brush off the dried mud stains and forest debris clinging to her noble clothes with disgust.
"Disgusting..." she hissed to herself. "Truly disgusting. The moisture of that damn forest all the way into my hair, mud, rain... Look at my boots... This smell won't come off me for days!"
"Oho, our princess has returned!" boomed a familiar, cheerful voice from the other end of the hall. Nythar was approaching them with a grin, his arms crossed over his chest. "What is it, Lavinia? Did they make you take a mud bath in the forest?"
Lavinia menacingly waved a blue flame that faintly appeared at the tips of her fingers toward Nythar. "Shut up, Nythar. Believe me, now is not the time at all. If you don't shut that mouth of yours, I will burn that massive body of yours and sweep your ashes under the carpets in this hall. I need to wash right now!" Stamping her boots hard on the marble floor, she furiously headed for the stairs and walked away grumbling toward the corridor where her own room was located.
Only Aelrindel, who had entered from the very back of the group, was left in the spacious hall.
The old elf moved forward, striking his staff on the marble floor much heavier than usual. His shoulders were slumped, and the light in his emerald eyes seemed to have faded. The century-old wrinkles on his face seemed to have deepened even more within a few hours under the weight of the truths they had learned in the forest.
Gliding silently from the shadows, Zirel appeared right next to Nythar. He sized up Aelrindel with his dull, expressionless eyes. "Welcome," he said briefly, but there was a subtle, questioning attentiveness in his voice. "It seems to have been a long and... quite exhausting journey."
Nythar also grew serious, slowing his steps and approaching the old elf. The grin on his face had completely vanished. "What happened, old man?" he asked, furrowing his brows. "I can understand Lavinia's grumpiness, she is always like that... But you look utterly devastated. You look like your ship has sunk. Did the person you were looking for upset you this much?"
Aelrindel let out a deep, trembling sigh. He gripped his staff tightly with both hands and closed his eyes for a moment. The words Yuria had spoken in the forest, 'my shell is beginning to crack', were still echoing in his mind.
He opened his eyes and looked at Nythar and Zirel, who were waiting curiously in front of him.
"That man upsetting us..." murmured Aelrindel, his voice filled with weariness and a century-old sorrow. "...believe me, was the most insignificant thing compared to the truths we faced today."
"Later..." murmured Aelrindel, raising his hand into the air with an expression that brooked no objection yet was equally exhausted. "I will explain it later when there is plenty of time. Believe me, now is not the time; even my bones are aching. I am going to get some rest."
When the old elf headed for the stairs with heavy steps accompanied by the dull thuds of his staff and disappeared from sight, Nythar and Zirel were left alone in the middle of the hall. Zirel's dull eyes and Nythar's furrowed brows met momentarily. It was a silent exchange of looks that could not be put into words. Both were thinking the same thing; there was only one person left from whom they could get answers.
Together, they walked toward that wide, heavy wooden door on the top floor of the manor. This was not just Lady Yuria's bedroom, but also her personal library.
When they slightly pushed the door open and stepped inside, there was a dense smell of old parchment, ink, and candles in the air. The room was surrounded by massive bookshelves; the tables, the stands, and even the floors were covered with open books, maps, and stacked volumes. Yuria was sitting behind her large study desk, reading a thick, leather-bound book in front of her, and continuously taking notes on a parchment with the quill in her hand. Her black-green eyepatch was in place, as always.
As soon as Nythar stepped into the room, he dispersed that heavy, serious atmosphere with his usual carefree attitude. He threw his full length into one of the most comfortable, wide velvet armchairs in the room and stretched out his legs.
"My Lady," Nythar said with a grin, "Are you hiding from us? I haven't been able to see your face since you came inside."
Zirel, who entered right behind him, gave him an ice-cold, stern look, unable to tolerate this relaxedness and flippancy of Nythar's as usual. Then, he turned to Yuria and respectfully bowed his head slightly. "Is there a problem, My Lady? Aelrindel looked very tired and quite... shaken."
Yuria continued to write for a few more seconds without lifting the tip of her quill from the parchment. Then, she gently laid the pen next to the inkwell and turned her head toward them.
"There is no problem," Yuria said, her voice smooth and devoid of emotion as always. "Aelrindel will explain to you at length the details and the upsetting parts of our meeting with that man in the forest when he rests."
She clasped her hands on the table. Her invisible gaze behind the black-green eyepatch wandered first over Zirel, then over Nythar. "There was someone I mentioned to you before... Devranna. I need to find her."
The grin on Nythar's face slowly faded away. He sat up slightly in the armchair and leaned forward. "My Lady... Why is finding that woman so important to you? Is she a very powerful person?"
"Yes," Yuria said without any hesitation. "Very powerful."
Nythar furrowed his brows. "Well, what will you do when you find her, My Lady? Will you use that power for us?"
"Nothing," Yuria replied cold-bloodedly. "When I find her, that is the only thing I will do; nothing. I just need to find her before Luxaris does. Otherwise, I more or less know what they will do to her."
While Zirel and Nythar listened to her in silence, Yuria briefly summarized for them the terrible truth she had told Aelrindel and Lavinia in the forest. She explained that humans' supernatural powers were not a taught art like those of other races, but a diseased anomaly passed down to children through bloodlines and genes. She said that Luxaris had been pursuing these rare powers for centuries, trying to add those special abilities entirely to their own monopoly, to their own bloodline, by bringing powerful bloodlines together or forcibly detaining them.
When she finished her words, that serene ink smell in the room had given way to a heavy tension. Even on Zirel's dull face, a slight hint of disgust passed by.
"If they find Devranna," Yuria said, the tone of her voice growing cold enough to drop the room's temperature by a few degrees, "they will do everything to take her power, that pure destructiveness in her blood, and add it to their own lineage. They wouldn't hesitate in the slightest to use her like a breeder, a weapon factory."
Yuria slowly stood up and headed toward the window. She looked out into the courtyard, toward that pale light filtered by the dark ocean waters.
"My goal is not to engage in a meaningless, all-out war with Luxaris," Yuria whispered, her voice sounding more like she was talking to herself. "But I cannot blatantly leave Devranna's ancient power... and most importantly, my old friend, to their bloody, dirty hands."
Yuria gently pulled her hand away from the windowsill. The warm light filtering down from that artificial yet warm sun of the cave was hitting the black-green eyepatch on her face. In her posture lay that unbending authority brought by centuries, but the only thing echoing in her voice was pure, heavy weariness.
"A war never has a true winner," she continued. Every single word she spoke was crushing even that heavy ink smell inside the room. "I know this best. Because when the war ended, I became one of those who walked right in the middle of those smoking ashes, the deafening silence, and the bottomless void that was left behind."
Zirel and Nythar were listening to her, holding their breaths as if time had stopped. There was no trace left of Nythar's flippant attitude or Zirel's cold stance; both seemed to be crushed under that colossal weight carried by this woman standing before them.
Yuria slowly turned toward them.
"Therefore, no matter the cost, that spark must not be struck," she said with absolute certainty. "Let them rule the world with the lies they love so much. Let them sit on their fake thrones and enjoy arrogance. If we draw our swords against them and step out of the shadows to enter an all-out war... we won't be the only ones to pay the price for this destruction. In a world where two giants clash, the only ones who get crushed and turned to ashes in that fire, who suffer the real harm, will solely be the entire human race."