The following day, Bell Tine no longer echoed with battle cries but with the clamor of boots and orders.
Under Wenard's official report, the Zheno Academy Order dispatched their own overseers, while Razker's direct message to the capital sent the Royal Knights marching into the ruined forest town.
Bell Tine, once a quiet settlement at the forest's edge, was overrun with armored men and scholars scribbling on scrolls, confiscating potions, crates, strange equipment, and every document connected to the drug Tres.
When they finally reached Caelith and Draven's bodies, both were lifeless—dead not from wounds but from the very drug that had driven them. The twins, Vyra and Vera, were found unconscious, weak and broken, and were taken into custody to be interrogated later.
The heroes, meanwhile, were ordered to stand down. Their mission was done. The rest would be handled by higher hands.
At the Inn
The group took shelter in Bell Tine's largest inn, the smell of roasted meats and fresh bread filling the air to soothe their exhausted bodies.
At the common room, plates of honey-glazed chicken legs, buttered bread, bowls of thick potato stew, and mugs of spiced cider covered the long table. A few slices of cake sat on a side tray for those with energy left for sweets.
Klyden dropped onto the bench with a sigh, his forearms wrapped in white bandages, a smaller one crossing his left brow. The scar there would never fade. He didn't look troubled by it—if anything, he seemed almost proud.
"Where's Wads?" he asked, already reaching for bread.
"Still sleeping," Ashborne replied, sliding into the seat beside him, stretching his shoulders with a crack.
Klyden tore bread in half, chewing noisily. "Figures. Guy nearly blew himself apart. Bet he's dreaming of roast chicken right now."
Liora, happily chewing on a chicken leg, raised her voice. "I heard the Grandmaster will reward us with tokens and a star crest for our coats once we become second-years!" She waved the drumstick like a banner.
Klyden grinned, eyes lighting up. "That would be greaaat. Finally, some recognition that we're not just errand kids."
"Recognition?" Ashborne smirked, spooning stew. "You mean more reason for you to show off."
"Hey, if you got it, flaunt it," Klyden said proudly, pointing to his own face. "This scar's going to make me look ten times cooler. Just wait until the girls back at the academy see me."
"Or they'll think you tripped into a door," Liora giggled, licking sauce from her fingers.
Klyden gasped, feigning betrayal. "You wound me."
Meanwhile, at the edge of the table, Keiya quietly sipped tea, her plate holding nothing but a delicate slice of cake. A parchment rested in her hand, her eyes scanning without raising her head.
"Not even joining the conversation, Keiya?" Ashborne asked.
"I am," she murmured, nibbling at her cake without looking up. "I'm listening. And keeping my ears safe from Klyden's bragging."
That earned a round of laughter, Klyden groaning dramatically as he clutched his chest.
Upstairs
While laughter filled the common room, silence ruled upstairs.
In the second-floor room, Wads still lay unmoving on the bed, his chest rising and falling slowly. For a full day and a half, he had not stirred.
Beside him, Reiyell sat at a desk, quill scratching softly across parchment as she composed their mission report. Her posture was straight, her handwriting elegant, every word precise. With each stroke she lessened the burden that awaited them once they returned to the academy.
The faint sound of Wads stirring pulled her gaze. She tilted her head, watching carefully. His lips parted.
"...Rei..." he whispered in sleep, eyes still shut.
Reiyell froze, brows lifting slightly.
Then another murmur followed.
"...Reizell..."
Her brows twitched. That was not her name. Close, but not. She leaned back, arms folding slightly as her eyes narrowed in thought.
A first love? From his hometown?
The thought crept in, but she brushed it away as quickly as it came, returning to her report with a small shake of her head.
Meanwhile, in Wads' mind, the dream unfurled vividly.
He was in a world that wasn't his own—streets unfamiliar, architecture grand. He moved freely in this body, his hand not his own: larger, older, clad in silk sleeves embroidered with silver thread. His reflection flashed across a tall window: short, silver-white hair. A handsome blurred face that wasn't his. A noble's attire of blue and white, dripping with jewels.
Before he could comprehend, a woman approached. Gold hair, adorned with royal jewelry, her presence radiant though her face blurred. She took his hand like it was natural. He followed without resistance.
Suddenly, they were in a garden, drinking tea, smiling, conversing happily—but no sound reached him. The world was muted, a vivid dream stripped of voices.
Then a child with golden hair ran into her arms, laughter silent but warm. His chest ached at the sight.
Then the garden burned. The sky turned blood red. Smoke choked the horizon.
And then—black.
Wads' eyes fluttered open. The ceiling greeted him, wooden beams above his head. His body felt… strange. No pain, no wounds. He was healed—but his head throbbed, like a reminder of the price he paid with his deity's power.
Instinctively, his hand reached for the locket at his neck, clutching it tightly.
A stare tugged at him. Turning, he found Reiyell watching him, her hair tied neatly, a few strands framing her elegant face.
"How long?" he rasped softly.
"...A day and a half," she answered, voice quiet as silk.
He sighed, staring at the ceiling. Too long. He needed to train harder. He couldn't afford to fall behind—not when something in his gut told him more was coming.
His brows furrowed. That dream—it lingered. The warmth, the horror. Why did it feel so real?
"Your Highness," he began, brushing the locket beneath his shirt. "I… had a strange dream."
Reiyell tilted her head slightly, listening without interrupting.
"In that dream, I was… in another world. Or maybe another person's life." His brows knitted tighter, confusion written on his face like a child fumbling for words.
Reiyell's soft hum urged him to continue, but before he could—
grrrruuuumble.
His stomach betrayed him.
Silence. Then—Reiyell chuckled, a light sound that almost surprised herself.
Wads pursed his lips, cheeks heating faintly. He looked away with all the dignity he could muster.
"...Should I bring you food?" Reiyell asked, her tone casual, almost amused.
He wanted to decline, but his body was weak and his pride already wounded. So he nodded stiffly, still refusing to look at her.
Reiyell stood gracefully and made for the door. Wads found his eyes trailing her back, lingering until she disappeared from the room.
Left alone, he massaged the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. His gaze drifted to the desk—the parchment and quill left in neat order.
His thoughts returned to the dream. To the child. The burning sky.
"What a very weird dream…" he muttered.