“Serenya!”
A voice cut through the dark, followed by the sound of running footsteps.
Serenya immediately closed her palms, dimming the light in her hands until it vanished. Lady Bradford rushed into the garden, her face a mix of anger and fear.
“What did I tell you about using magic?!” her mother whispered angrily, looking around the dark garden for any witnesses.
Serenya looked down at the grass, avoiding her mother’s gaze.
“If anyone saw you,” Lady Bradford continued, “your father will execute you himself.”
Serenya looked back up, a quiet defiance in her eyes. “Why do I have to hide my gift? It is the gift of light.”
“It’s a damn curse!” Lady Bradford snapped. “My family has hidden this secret for generations. You are going to get all of us killed!”
“Grandmother told me you were the most gifted mage in the world when you were young,” Serenya countered.
Lady Bradford’s anger flared, raising his voice unintentionally. “Your grandmother is a crazy old woman. You shouldn’t listen to her.”
Serenya looked away, sinking back into sadness.
Seeing her daughter's face, Lady Bradford let out a sigh and stepped forward, placing her hands on Serenya’s shoulders. “I’m sorry you inherited this burden from me,” she said quietly. “I hoped this curse would stop with me. But you must not use it, no matter the case. Do you understand?”
“Yes, mother,” Serenya replied reluctantly.
“Good girl. Let’s go get some sleep.”
The Wanderer remained frozen in the shadows, watching silently until both women left the garden. Then he retreated to his room cautiously.
He sat on the edge of his bed, his mind racing. A whole family of mages living within the heart of Valoria? How had they managed to avoid detection all this time, especially with Mage Seekers constantly patrolling? And Serenya... she clearly couldn't control her urge to use it. More importantly, how was she even able to manifest magic within walls built entirely of Nullstone?
Realizing he had no answers, and knowing they had a journey ahead of them tomorrow, he decided to let it go for the night and finally managed to sleep.
The next morning, the Wanderer walked up the stairs and knocked on Serenya’s door.
A maid opened it, stepping aside. Inside, Serenya was sitting before her vanity. She caught his reflection in the mirror and smiled, her tone playful. “Is it becoming a habit, visiting my room without a request?”
The Wanderer hesitated. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you, my lady. Should I leave?”
She gestured for him to enter. “Are you always this tense?”
“Am I?” he replied, adjusting his posture. “I think it became a part of me without me noticing.”
She laughed, turning around to face him. “It’s fine. Just gives me more ways to pick on you.”
He froze for a second, momentarily lost in the warmth of her smile, before quickly regaining his composure. “Can I talk to you about something?”
“Sure, what is it?” she replied.
The Wanderer looked toward the maid standing by the wardrobe.
Understanding the look, Serenya turned. “Leave us alone, please.”
The maid bowed and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her. Serenya turned back to the Wanderer, tilting her head. “Speak.”
The Wanderer asked bluntly, “What do you think about magic?”
Serenya’s face went pale. She quickly turned back to the mirror, picking up her brush and running it through her hair. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” he replied.
“Those kinds of questions can get you killed here,” she said, her reflection looking at him.
“You already saved my life, my lady. I don’t think you would waste it over a question.”
Serenya sighed, dropping the brush onto the vanity. She turned to face him. “I don’t have an opinion. But mages shouldn’t come near Valoria.”
“So you don’t hate them?” he pressed.
“What are you trying to get from me, Wanderer?” she asked, her frustration beginning to show.
Noticing the shift in her tone, he waved his hand defensively. “Nothing, my lady. I’m sorry if I annoyed you with my questions. I’m just new here, and it’s hard to get anyone to talk about magic at all.”
Serenya stared at him for a moment. She spoke in a near whisper. “I pity them. They didn’t choose to be born mages. Yet the Seekers hunt them even outside the walls, calling it a holy crusade.”
Silence filled the room, before Serenya spoke again, her voice hardening. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.
Now leave. I don’t wish to discuss this anymore.”
The Wanderer bowed low. “I’ll go get ready for our departure.”
“No,” she cut in. “You’ve annoyed me enough for one morning. Stay here until I return.”
He opened his mouth to apologize, but she cut him off before the words could leave his lips. “Just leave, please.”
“As you wish,” he replied quietly, turning and exiting the room.
An hour later, the Wanderer stood by the manor’s gates, watching as Serenya and the other squires prepared the horses for the trip to Hosar. Despite her orders, he approached her mount, holding the reins.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to join you?” he asked.
“No,” she said shortly, refusing to look down at him as she took the reins from his hand. “Hosar isn’t far from here.”
The Wanderer stepped back as she spurred her horse into a gallop, the other squires following closely behind her.
He watched them disappear down the road until the sound of hooves faded. With a free day ahead of him and the manor quiet, he decided to use the time to check if Zeek had uncovered anything regarding Skida’s soldier.
The Wanderer grabbed a dark cowl, pulling the hood low over his head to cover his face.
He approached the refugee camp, blending into the crowds of workers busy with construction and daily chores. For a brief moment, he stopped to admire the rapid progress. A few structures were already nearing completion, while the stone foundations for dozens of others were being laid out across the dirt. In terms of craftsmanship, it was impossible to tell the difference between these new sectors and any other building in Valoria.
Except for one.
His eyes caught an unfinished structure that had been completely destroyed, burn marks on the falling walls and debris.
Shaking off the distraction, the Wanderer scanned his surroundings to ensure no one was watching. He circled the perimeter of Zeek’s tent for several minutes, making sure no Mage Seeker was lingering nearby before finally slipping inside.
“Good morning, Captain,” the Wanderer said, pulling back his hood.
Zeek glanced up from his desk, his hand busy signing a stack of documents. “What now? Found another spy?”
“So you confirmed he is one?” the Wanderer asked.
“No,” Zeek replied flatly. “He hasn’t done anything suspicious so far. But my men noticed that the other refugees go out of their way to avoid him. When we questioned them privately, they confirmed your story that he belongs to Skida’s unit.” Zeek finally looked at the Wanderer. “However, none of them said anything about him being a mage, nor did they back up your claim that her soldiers are incapable of betraying her.”
The Wanderer frowned. “You still don’t believe me?”
“Would you blame me?” Zeek countered.
The Wanderer looked away, the silence stretching between them for a moment. “What about the Mage Seekers?”
“They checked him,” Zeek said. “They claim he’s entirely clean. No mana, nothing.”
The Wanderer nodded, and decided it was best to leave before a seeker crossed his path.
“I have a request,” Zeek said, stopping him before he could reach the tent entrance.
The Wanderer turned back.
“I’m certain no one in this city knows your face,” Zeek continued, leaning forward. “At the very least, they won't associate you with a Draemiran.”
“Other than one man I’ve crossed paths with here... yes, probably.” said the Wanderer.
“Good. You already carry the Bradford crest as a squire, which gives you a degree of authority and freedom,” Zeek said. “I need you to investigate a tavern.”
“A tavern?” the Wanderer asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Lately, there have been acts of sabotage,” Zeek explained. “Tools and building materials have been disappearing at random. We dismissed it initially to prevent panic from spreading through the camp. But a couple of days ago, the refugees woke up to a sudden explosion that destroyed an entire building.”
He pointed a finger toward the blackened wreckage location, the Wanderer had just seen. “Our investigation led us straight to the barkeep of that tavern.”
The Wanderer caught on quickly. “You want me to infiltrate it.”
“You fit the profile perfectly,” Zeek nodded. “The other refugees might be compromised or recognized, and my own men are far too well-known in these streets. You’re a fresh face with a noble backing. Find out what they’re planning.”