The chamber doors opened with urgency. A field courier entered, travel cloak still dusty, scroll in hand and sweat lining his brow.
> "Raid report, sir—direct from Hollowspire Forward Camp. Marked priority."
—Courier
Caelen took the scroll and broke the seal without ceremony. Ferrow stepped closer. Hale leaned in with narrowed eyes.
Caelen read aloud, voice clipped but controlled.
> "Target identified: Burrow Sentinels with regenerative traits. Sub-type: Bound Soul Core."
"Enemy neutralized. Core destroyed. Estimated collapse: complete within thirty-five minutes of extraction."
"Casualties: none. Light injuries and few heavy injuries."
"Final strike: Ysarre Veln. Confirmed soul-thread severance—record attached via arcane imprint."
Signed:Maera Linth."
A long silence followed.
Ferrow gave a low whistle under his breath.
"She cut a thread."
—Lucan Ferrow
Guildmaster Hale took the scroll and reviewed the arcane verification strip embedded in the wax.
"No mistake. She did it."
"That… is a Level 8 achievement."
—Guildmaster Hale
Caelen folded his arms, gaze distant.
"The Guild will see it."
"And they'll vote."
—Crown Prince Caelen
"Not all of them. But enough will remember the name Ysarre Veln."
—Guildmaster Hale
_______________________________________
Ridgefort Garden Hall – Private Meeting Chamber—A few days later
Afternoon light filtered through arched windows, casting long shadows across the high-backed chairs. The air smelled faintly of pine oil and parchment. A war map had been pushed aside for tea and silence.
Ysarre Veln sat relaxed in a half-armored tunic, boots still scuffed from Hollowspire. She didn't touch the tea.
Tenrin Volsh leaned against a support pillar instead of sitting, arms crossed, cloak streaked with wind-dust and highland frost.
Guildmaster Hale stood between them, a scroll in one hand.
Prince Caelen didn't speak at first. He studied them both—one a storm barely held in check, the other a sword in waiting.
"The Guild has requested your presence," Caelen said evenly. "Two names submitted. Both chosen for advancement review. You've earned it."
Neither answered immediately.
Ysarre gave a slow exhale.
"And if I say no?"
—Ysarre Veln
"You can. The process allows it. But your record now includes a severed soul-thread."
"That will be on the table regardless of your presence."
—Guildmaster Hale
"I didn't do it for a title."
—Ysarre Veln
"Good. That's why it matters."
—Caelen
Tenrin scoffed quietly, still by the window.
"What matters is that it's a parade. I'm not dressing up and listening to vote-chasers recite my kill count."
—Tenrin Volsh
"You shattered a frost titan with one strike and saved three villages during a storm season. That's not just a story—it's an edge. And the realm could use more edges."
—Hale
"The realm didn't fly with me in the blizzard."
—Tenrin
He turned, voice sharp.
"I don't serve for gold. Not for medals. Not for some vote from men who've never fought a day in their lives."
"I've seen what happens to power once it gets named. It forgets where it came from."
—Tenrin Volsh
A quiet tension fell over the room.
Caelen's voice was steady.
"So you'll walk away?"
—Prince Caelen
"I already did."
—Tenrin Volsh
Without another word, Tenrin pushed open the chamber doors and left. The wind that followed smelled like high snow and dry skies.
The silence held. Hale didn't move.
Ysarre eventually reached for her tea, lifted it, then set it back down untouched.
"I'll attend."
—Ysarre Veln
"Volsh has his skies. I'll stand in the room."
"But don't expect a speech."
—Ysarre Veln
Caelen smiled faintly, almost tired.
"Just stand. That'll be enough."
—Crown Prince Caelen