Chapter 19: Gremory's Gift
The journey through the ley lines was a blur of light and shadow, of shifting energies and old paths half-swallowed by time.
When they emerged in the outskirts of the Underworld's Gremory territory, the air felt softer. Safer.
Volundr stood still for a long moment, scanning the clearing. Shuri Himejima lay in Lirien's arms, unconscious but stable.
Akeno, cradled protectively by Claudius, breathed in light, shallow patterns. They were safe—for now.
Volundr exhaled and pulled the hood of his traveling cloak back, the silver-inked runes on his sleeves slowly dimming as the magic unraveled.
"Time to finish what we started," he murmured.
Lord Gremory was not an easy man to gain an audience with, especially on short notice. But Volundr had already prepared the way. Sealed letters, quiet favors, and silent allies within the bureaucracy had paved his path.
They arrived at the lesser court of House Gremory, a grand manor nestled between obsidian hills and violet crystal groves.
Volundr led the way, calm but alert, Lirien and Claudius following without hesitation.
Within the hall, under a dome of sapphire light, Lord Zeoticus Gremory waited.
His presence was dignified, warm but commanding. At his side stood his daughter—Rias Gremory, barely more than a child. Her crimson hair glowed like a banner of fire, and her sky-blue eyes widened when they landed on Volundr.
He bowed deeply. "Lord Gremory. I come not with claim or request, but with a burden I refuse to let rot."
Zeoticus raised a brow. "Then speak, young Lord Agares."
Volundr gestured to the two figures behind him. "Shuri Himejima and her daughter, Akeno. Victims of a purging ritual orchestrated by extremist exorcists. I have extracted them from execution."
There was a beat of silence.
"Why come to me?"
Volundr met his eyes. "Because your house has long stood for compassion. Because you hold the political weight to shield them. And because…"—his voice softened—"…she was never mine to save. Only mine to not abandon."
Zeoticus Gremory regarded him in silence, studying the steely composure and the trembling of restrained exhaustion in the boy's stance.
"I will take them in," he said at last. "They will be under Gremory protection, as honored guests."
Volundr bowed again. "Thank you. That is all I ask."
Rias stepped forward, curiosity flickering across her features.
"You're strange," she said softly. "Like… you're carved from silence and snow."
Volundr blinked, then gave a slight smile. "Then let's hope winter teaches warmth."
Later that evening, Rias would write in her journal:
He looked older than he was. Not in age, but in the way old swords remember war. I wonder what kind of king he'll become.
And Volundr, far from the Gremory estate, stood under starlight once more, watching the night roll over the sky. He felt no pride. Only a quiet, burning question:
How many more must I save before peace begins?
And in his heart, he knew—the storm was only beginning.