The morning after Veyra's arrival was far too normal for Elric's liking.
The sun peeked through a patch of rare blue sky, the scent of fresh bread wafted in from the village baker, and Cai was humming tunelessly while reorganizing Elric's herb shelf by "smell strength." Lira supervised with a face that screamed: please send help.
"Cai, why are the garlic cloves on top of the lavender?" Lira asked, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Because garlic is brave and lavender is... soft."
"...He's your student now," she muttered at Elric.
Elric sipped his tea. "He's experimenting. Let him."
"You didn't let me experiment."
"You once tried to sterilize bandages with pickle brine, Lira."
She opened her mouth. Closed it. "Touché."
---
In the corner, Veyra sharpened her blade in silence.
She hadn't left since last night. When asked if she had any plans, she'd simply replied, "I watch."
That made Elric mildly uncomfortable. "Do you ever blink?"
She didn't answer. Which, frankly, answered the question.
---
Around noon, trouble came again—this time wrapped in silk.
A pair of carriages arrived, flanked by armored riders with sun-crested shields. At their head, a tall, bored-looking elf in a scholar's robe stepped down and dramatically announced to no one in particular, "Behold! The Royal Academy graces in your peasant doorstep."
He was promptly greeted by Lira dumping chicken feed near his boots.
"Mind the chicken poop," she said sweetly.
Elric stepped out of the clinic, hands still damp with medicinal balm. "You're early. I expected spies disguised as farmers, not someone with enough perfume to asphyxiate half the village."
The elf smiled thinly. "I am Professor Sylas Neridith of the Royal Historical and Arcane Preservation Institute."
"Fascinating," Elric replied. "Do you need healing or a reality check?"
Sylas blinked. "I'm here to study the Tree of Echoes."
Elric's smile vanished. "The Tree is sealed."
"We have a royal decree. From King Taran himself."
That made Veyra shift her weight. And that was never good.
---
Inside the clinic, Cai peeked through the curtains.
"Are those real elves?" he asked.
"Yes," Elric muttered. "And sadly, they're the scholarly kind."
"Is he prettier than you?"
"I'm throwing away your garlic tower."
---
Elric let Sylas and his team in but with limits: no patients disturbed, no relics touched, and definitely no "magical resonance sniffing" inside the clinic (yes, that was apparently a thing).
While Sylas marveled at sketches of ancient sigils, Elric noticed something far more important—one of the guards, a quiet, hooded woman with a bow, kept looking at Cai.
Not in a curious way.
In a recognition way.
Elric moved beside her quietly. "You know him."
The woman didn't flinch. "He's one of the Seeds."
Elric's eyes narrowed. "And you?"
She pulled back her hood slightly—revealing beastkin ears, furred and feline, and eyes that glowed faintly.
"I'm one too."
---
Later that night, as the scholars camped outside, Elric, Lira, Veyra, and the beastkin woman sat in the cellar.
"I go by Keera," she said. "I was born near another Tree. I've been running since I was ten."
"And the others?" Elric asked.
"Scattered. Watched. Some... harvested."
Cai curled into himself a little, and Lira gently put a hand on his back.
Elric nodded slowly. "Then maybe it's time the Seeds stopped hiding."
He looked toward the north, where the next Tree was rumored to sleep beneath the ruins of an old dwarven city.
"We need to move before the King's Game plays its final card."
---
Far in the capital, King Taran read a scroll delivered by crow.
He read the name Keera and frowned.
"So the beasts are gathering too," he whispered.
Then he turned to Morian. "Raise the bounty on Elric. Quietly."
Morian's lips curled. "Even for a prince?"
"For a player, Morian. He's no longer a pawn."
---