Chapter 119 (Part 10)
The boat ride had been longer than Alok expected.
The river was wide and dark, its surface barely disturbed by the small wooden vessel that carried him across. The boatman had not spoken a word during the journey just a silent nod when Alok had boarded, and another when they reached the opposite bank. Alok had paid him without asking questions. That was how things worked in Feilw Land. You paid, you moved, you kept your mouth shut.
He stepped onto the muddy bank and looked back. Castrone was already gone not just out of sight, but out of existence. The familiar skyline, the distant hum of technology, the smell of industry all of it had vanished. Replaced by something older. Something heavier.
Feilw Land.
The trees pressed close to the riverbank, their branches heavy with moss and age. The air smelled of damp earth and decay, but beneath it, something else something faintly sweet, like incense burning in a distant temple. Alok adjusted his disguise, pulling the hood of his worn cloak lower over his face. He had changed his appearance as much as possible darker clothes, a different walk, a practiced hunch to his shoulders. He was just another traveler, just another face in the crowd.
He found the supply truck waiting at the edge of the treeline, exactly as Darius had promised. The driver barely glanced at him as Alok climbed into the back, settling among crates of dried goods and cloth. The truck rumbled to life, and they began to move.
The journey took hours. The truck avoided the main roads, sticking to narrow dirt paths that wound through dense forests and past crumbling stone walls. Alok watched through a gap in the canvas, his eyes fixed on the landscape outside.
Feilw Land was nothing like Castrone.
The buildings were old ancient, even their stone walls darkened by centuries of rain and shadow. Gothic spires rose against the gray sky, their peaks crowned with iron crosses and weather worn statues of figures Alok did not recognize. Everywhere he looked, he saw churches. Small ones. Grand ones. Some so old that their roofs had collapsed, leaving only skeletal frames behind.
Lisa's churches.
Alok felt the pendant pulse faintly against his chest. He pressed his hand against it, steadying himself.
Lisa is here. Ceya is here. Tira is here.
The truck finally stopped at a crossroads near a small village. The driver grunted something unintelligible, jerking his thumb toward the village gate. Alok climbed out without a word, shouldering his small bag.
The village was called Duskvale.
It was small little more than a cluster of stone buildings huddled around a central square. A well. A few shops. And at the far end, a weathered sign creaking in the wind.
The Silent Bell.
Alok's stomach growled. He hadn't eaten properly in two days.
The tavern was warm, lit by a crackling fire that cast dancing shadows across the walls. The air smelled of ale, wood smoke, and something meaty simmering in a pot.
Alok found a corner table, keeping his back to the wall, his hood still partially raised. A serving girl brought him a bowl of stew and a cup of water without being asked. He nodded his thanks and began to eat.
The stew was simple, but it was hot, and that was enough. Alok ate slowly, his eyes scanning the room. The tavern was half full a mix of travelers, merchants, and locals. Most of them kept to themselves, nursing their drinks in quiet conversation.
But one group near the fire was talking loudly enough for Alok to hear.
"There's no way Vaelia wins," a man said, his voice carrying across the room. "She's got power, sure. But she's not a fighter. Not like the others."
A second man laughed. "You're just saying that because you bet on the Medon girl."
"And why not? She's got ambition. She's got blood. And she's got the backing of three families. Vaelia's got... what?"
"Laison blood. That's enough."
Alok's spoon paused halfway to his mouth. Vaelia. Laison.
He forced himself to keep eating, his ears straining to catch every word.
"Laison blood hasn't won a Grand Wizard title in years," a third voice chimed in. "Not since Gosia Elizabeth. And she's long gone."
Gosia Elizabeth. The name struck Alok like a physical blow. He had never heard it before, but something about it felt important. Ancient.
"Aye, gone, but not forgotten," the first man said. "They say her body is still sealed somewhere. Locked away. Protected."
"Protected from what?"
"From those who would try to claim her power."
The conversation shifted, moving to other topics a merchant's dispute in Laison City, a recent border skirmish, the rising price of grain. Alok listened, gathering fragments of information, piecing them together.
Laison City. Laison Family. Vaelia. Gosia Elizabeth. The Grand Wizard title.
And then, something else.
"Did you hear about the Raigen boy?" a new voice said a younger man, perhaps a merchant's apprentice.
Alok's blood went cold. Raigen.
"What about him?"
"I heard there's a Raigen somewhere in Feilw Land. One of the old bloodline. Still alive. Still walking around like he owns the place."
The first man snorted. "Rumors. Raigen family's been dead for generations."
"Not dead," the younger man said. "Just waiting." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "Lord Claric Raigen is still in the game. I believe that."
The name echoed in Alok's mind. He had never heard it before. But something about it felt... familiar. Not the name itself but the weight behind it. The way the men spoke of it, the reverence in the younger man's voice. It stirred something in his chest, something he couldn't name.
He pushed the thought aside. He had more important things to focus on.
The conversation continued, moving to other topics the Magic Exam, the Mark Battle, the Grand Wizard title. Alok listened, cataloging every piece of information.
Ceya is fighting for her life. Vaelia is using her. Lisa is controlling her.
He finished his stew and set the spoon down. The serving girl appeared, and he asked for a room for the night. She nodded and led him up a narrow staircase to a small room with a bed and a window overlooking the village square.
Alok closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed.
I need to get to Laison City. I need to find Ceya. I need to find Tira.
He touched the pendant against his chest. It was warm.
One step at a time.
POV SHIFT – Tira (Feilw Land – Vaelia's Estate)
Tira sat alone in her room, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
The walls were thick, the windows barred. She had been confined to this room for two days now ever since Vaelia had looked at her with those cold, calculating eyes and said:
"You've been acting strange, Tira. I hope you're not hiding something from me."
Tira had smiled. She had lied. She had said all the right things.
But Vaelia was not fooled.
She knows, Tira thought. She doesn't know everything. But she knows enough.
She pressed her trembling hands against her knees and took a slow breath.
Alok. Please. Hurry.
POV SHIFT – Alok (Duskvale – The Silent Bell Inn)
The night was cold and quiet.
Alok lay on the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling. The information from the tavern churned in his mind like a storm.
Mark Battle. Death Battle. Ceya is fighting for her life. Vaelia is using her. Lisa is controlling her.
He thought about the conversation. Gosia Elizabeth. Laison Family's last Grand Wizard. Sealed body. Raigen Family. Lord Claric Raigen.
He had no idea who Lord Claric Raigen was. But the name lingered in his mind, stirring something he couldn't explain.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small scrap of paper Rihan had given him. A name. A contact.
Darius Voss. That was for getting in.
He needed another name. Another contact. Someone who could help him inside Feilw Land.
He closed his eyes.
One step at a time. First, Laison City. Then, Ceya. Then, Tira. Then, Vaelia.
He fell asleep with the pendant warm against his chest, dreaming of dark churches and sealed tombs.