Lady Seraphina stands in Duke Aran's study, her robes immaculate, her expression composed. On the table between them lie five artifacts—small, glowing objects that pulse with healing magic. Each one radiates a soft, warm light, their enchantments designed for field healing, for saving lives on the battlefield.

  "The medical artifacts you requested, Your Grace," Seraphina says, her voice calm and professional. "All five are complete. They're designed for rapid healing—wounds, injuries, even some poisons. They'll be invaluable for your forces at the northern pass."

  Aran examines the artifacts, his expression neutral. "Thank you, Lady Seraphina. The Mage's Guild's craftsmanship is, as always, exceptional."

  "Of course, Your Grace." Seraphina's eyes flick to the Sword of Devouring, which hangs on the wall behind Aran's desk. The dark blade seems to absorb the light in the room, creating an unnerving presence. "I trust these will serve your purposes well."

  "They will," Aran says, his attention still on the artifacts. "Is there anything else?"

  "No, Your Grace. I'll take my leave." Seraphina bows slightly, then turns and exits the study, her robes flowing behind her.

  Aran waits, listening to her footsteps fade down the corridor. He turns his attention to the artifacts.

  He picks up one of the medical artifacts first, examining it. It glows with a soft, warm light, healing magic swirling within its core. A valuable artifact, designed to save lives. But Aran has other plans for it.

  He draws the Sword of Devouring from its place on the wall. The blade feels heavier than usual, its dark energy pulsing with anticipation. Aran can feel it—the sword's hunger, its desire to consume.

  He places the artifact on the table, then brings the sword's tip to it. The moment the blade touches the artifact, black flames erupt from the sword's surface. They wrap around the healing artifact, consuming it, devouring its magical energy. The artifact's glow intensifies for a moment, fighting against the consumption, but it is futile. The sword's hunger is too strong.

  The artifact cracks, then shatters, its magical core collapsing as the sword devours its power. Black flames swirl around the blade, stronger than before, more intense. Aran can feel the power flowing into the sword, can feel the connection strengthening.

  The flames fade, leaving only fragments of crystal on the table. The sword's dark energy pulses stronger now, more alive, more aware.

  Aran examines the blade. It shows no visible change, but he can feel it—the sword is stronger. More powerful. More hungry.

  He activates the sword, channeling its power. The dark energy flows through him, connecting him to the blade's consciousness. He can feel its hunger, its desire to consume.

  Aran raises the sword, then deliberately draws the blade across his palm. The cut is shallow, but blood wells up immediately, red against his skin.

  But then, slowly, he feels it—a warmth spreading from the sword, flowing through his arm, into his hand. The cut begins to heal. Not instantly, but faster than natural. The blood stops flowing, the skin knitting together, the wound closing.

  Within seconds, only a faint pink line remains where the cut had been.

  Aran stares at his palm, then at the sword.

  "It's true, after all," he whispers, his voice filled with a mix of wonder and something darker.

  ---

  Lady Seraphina walks through the palace corridors, her mind already moving to the next task. The medical artifacts have been delivered. The duke's forces will have the healing support they need for the coming battle.

  She exits the palace, stepping into the grounds. The open space stretches before her—manicured gardens, training areas, and clear skies above. As she moves toward the palace gates, a messenger bird swoops down, landing on her outstretched arm. It is a small creature, its feathers shimmering with magical energy—one of the Guild's enchanted messengers, designed to carry urgent communications.

  The bird chirps, then speaks in a clear, mechanical voice: "Message from Elara: Aria has returned. She's safe. Currently in the tower. Requesting immediate briefing."

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  Seraphina's expression shifts, a mix of relief and concern.

  "Thank you," Seraphina says to the bird, which chirps once more before taking flight. She raises her staff, channeling magic. The air around her shimmers, and a large creature materializes—a flying mount summoned from the Guild's stables.

  It is a magnificent beast, larger than a horse, with the body of a great cat and the wings of an eagle. Its fur is the color of storm clouds—deep grey with silver streaks that catch the light like lightning. The wings span wide, feathers tipped with iridescent blue that shimmer with magical energy. Its eyes are intelligent, golden and piercing, and its claws are like polished obsidian.

  The mount hovers before her, its wings beating slowly, creating a gentle breeze that rustles Seraphina's robes. It lowers itself, allowing her to mount with practiced ease.

  Seraphina settles onto its back, her robes flowing in the wind as the creature rises into the air. With a gesture, she directs it toward the Mage's Tower, and the mount responds instantly, its powerful wings propelling them forward with smooth, graceful strokes. The ground falls away beneath them as they soar toward the tower's spire.

  ---

  In a small meeting room within the Mage Tower, Aria sits across from Elara, her expression serious. The room is comfortable enough—chairs, a table, warm lighting—but the atmosphere is tense.

  "Aria," Elara says, her voice calm but firm. "I need you to understand the situation. Lady Seraphina has been worried about you. We all have. Your disappearance was... concerning."

  "I know," Aria says, her voice quieter than usual. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause trouble."

  Elara's expression softens slightly. "I know you didn't. But you need to understand what happened. When you returned with those wolves and that Xian defector, we had to follow protocol."

  "The wolves aren't dangerous," Aria says, her voice defensive. "They saved us. They're intelligent. They're not monsters."

  "I understand," Elara says. "But Lady Seraphina needs to make that determination herself. And Master Voren... he's thorough. He'll want to verify everything. The wolves, Kai, your story—all of it."

  Aria's jaw tightens. "Kai isn't a spy. He saved my life. Multiple times."

  "I believe you," Elara says. "But Master Voren does not. And until we have some proof, Kai stays in custody."

  Aria looks away, her expression frustrated. "How long?"

  "I don't know," Elara admits. "Master Voren works at his own pace. But Lady Seraphina will want to see you. She'll want your full report. Everything that happened, everything you saw, everything you learned."

  Aria nods, though her expression remains troubled. "And the wolves? What happens to them?"

  "That depends on what the council decides," Elara says. "If they're truly non-threatening, they might be released. If not..." She doesn't finish the sentence, but the implication is clear.

  Before Aria can respond, there is a knock at the door. A young mage enters, his expression urgent.

  "Lady Elara," he says, his voice slightly breathless. "There's a disturbance in the tower's energy system. The monitoring crystals are showing unusual fluctuations. The energy flow is... irregular. It's like something is pulling energy from the grid."

  Elara's expression sharpens. "Selectively cut off the network and find the fault area."

  She turns to Aria. "Stay here. I'll be back shortly."

  Aria nods, though her expression is worried. As Elara leaves with the mage, Aria remains in the room, alone with her thoughts. "I have a bad feeling about this."

  ********* Chapter end *********