Chương 78: Allies and different paths

"Wherever that woman goes, chaos always follows," Lorin said with a weary sigh, leaning back behind her desk with a dull metal pipe clenched at the corner of her mouth.

"Without fail." She had kept it for as long as Elaria could remember. The bowl was nicked and scarred from decades of use, yet polished smooth by habit and care.

"I am not entirely certain that Mournvale can help it," Elaria replied, watching the low ember glow as Lorin drew on the pipe. The scent of ash-leaf and iron resin bled into the room, dry, bitter, and faintly mineral as it carried with it the weight of old memories.

"Do you mean she can't help but cause chaos," Lorin asked, "or that chaos simply finds her?"

"Both." Lorin shook her head.

"The fates played a smokesick joke on us all the day they decided to heap that much power onto her." Elaria remained silent. Lorin studied her for a moment.

"…You truly intend to care for that girl?"

"I do."

"Even with a Forgotten Throne involved?"

"Yes." Lorin drew in again, then lowered the pipe, a slow stream of smoke escaping her nose as she considered. They had already spoken at length of what Elaria knew regarding Marrowfen, the Silent Lord, and the current movements of the Silence and its Unraveled along the fronts. What followed had been the matter of Serel—her origins, her nature—and Elaria had not tried to hide the truth. Lorin was the only person who had held her trust since she had been a child.

"I wish I could help you," Lorin said.

"But you have long since passed the point where I can assist you as I once did."

"You have done more than enough for me already. I would not be alive today if not for you." Lorin tapped the pipe against the edge of a bronze tray on the desk. A scatter of embers fell and died against the metal.

"A Forgotten Throne is more than any mortal should bear alone. The Silence Between threatens half the dominions, and now you would face the Graven Daughter alone as well?"

"I am not alone," Elaria said.

"With Mournvale," Lorin said.

"Which is precisely part of the problem. If she set these events in motion, I would be very cautious about trusting her to help resolve them."

"She did not force me to accept Serel as my daughter."

"Did she consult you before binding herself to a Forgotten Throne?"

"No."

"Then explain to me how that differs." Elaria was quiet for a moment.

"All I know is that I was given a choice. I remember nothing else, but I am certain of that much. Mournvale has many flaws. This is not one I will lay at her feet." Lorin regarded her steadily, then lifted the pipe again.

"Do you consider her a friend?" Elaria paused.

"A friend?"

"Yes. A friend."

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I have known you since you were a babe—since the Ember Scar was first confirmed within you—and I have never once known you to call anyone a friend. I am wondering whether that has changed." Elaria watched her, though her attention gradually drifted to the smoke curling upward as it thinned and vanished.

"…She is a dependable ally. One I have endured many trials alongside."

"Yes," Lorin said.

"I know. Another reason why I begrudgingly owe Mournvale my thanks. She stood with you against the Ashward persecution. She fought beside you at the Ember Citadel. Of all the formidable allies you have gathered over the years, she may be the most steadfast. There is a reason so many of the songs bind your names together."

"Then what are you asking me?"

"Simply whether you think of her as a friend." Elaria shook her head faintly.

"I have never considered it."

"That does not surprise me." Lorin's gaze drifted to the wall, where an ashen banner bearing the faded sigil of a throne hung.

"As I said, I have never known you to." Elaria followed her gaze. There were many acquaintances that she was close to—individuals who could reasonably be described as friends. She had no doubt that some of them thought of her that way. But she did not think of herself in those terms. She knew herself too well. Understood the shape of her own disposition. Whatever else she was, she did not meet the quiet expectations such relationships carried. People like Vera possessed an instinct for it.

The woman could speak once with a stranger and, through that interaction, cultivate a bond that might endure for years. Elaria, by contrast, could only carry herself in a manner that inspired confidence and respect—but rarely closeness. It was only natural. She did not consider it a failing.

"Do you intend to raise a child with Mournvale under the pretense of being merely allies?" Lorin suddenly asked. Elaria turned back to her, one brow lifting.

"Are you suggesting that we should aim for a romantic arrangement instead?" Lorin stiffened, then waved the idea aside.

"No. I would very much prefer that you didn't, in fact."

"I had no such intention."

"That, at least, is something I can remain thankful for." Lorin breathed out slowly.

"It's good that I can still rely on you being sensible." Elaria frowned slightly, unsettled by a thin, unexpected thread of tension winding through her chest.

"But setting aside any question of romance or personal entanglement," Lorin continued, her voice sharpening, "I think you may be underestimating what comes with being responsible for a child, Elaria." Elaria folded her arms in front of her.

"You do?" She had considered it for some time before coming to a conclusion. She had weighed the implications, the dangers, and the practical realities as she knew them. She did not believe herself overly reckless or sentimental, nor blind to what this choice entailed. She was taking deliberate steps to attend to Serel's safety, her stability, and her future. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Something faintly strained crossed Lorin's expression as the woman watched her.

"I am sure you have thought this through," she said.

"I am not questioning that. But, Elaria—tell me honestly. Do you believe yourself prepared for that role? Suited to it? For everything it demands, and everything that may come with caring for a child?" Elaria hesitated. She did not. That was a simple fact. The more she observed Vera with Serel, the more certain she became of it. Before her, Lorin released another long, weary sigh.

"You're already the Covenant's Flamebearer and Keeper of the Pyric Oath. It worries me that you would add responsibility like this atop all you already carry. Had I not known that you never take on a burden without assuming it in full—without bearing every consequence yourself—I might not have been as concerned. Anyone else in your position would have appointed wardens, caretakers, or attendants to delegate most of the task, as one might any other ward. But you won't, will you?"

"No," Elaria answered immediately.

"I thought so. If the girl had at least had a reliable father, there might have been some measure of relief. But it simply had to be Mournvale." Elaria's eyes narrowed slightly.

"I understand why you would not assume otherwise. But Vera is surprisingly attentive with Serel." Lorin gave her a long look.

"'Vera?'""…Mournvale," Elaria corrected.

"I have personally observed her with Serel these past days. I believe she could be trusted with the child's safety and well-being even were I not around." Lorin's gaze lingered on her for several seconds. Then she nodded once, slow and reluctant as the movement appeared, tapping ash from her pipe.

"Fine. I won't dispute that. And while I lament her involvement, I won't deny the reality that you and she have chosen to accept." She paused, then continued more carefully, "But if you are truly intent on walking this path, then I suggest you reassess the way you choose to regard that woman."

"And why is that?" Lorin lifted the pipe one last time, then set it aside.

"Because an ally is someone you fight alongside. Someone you trust when circumstances are harsh and decisions are ugly. You rely on them in battle, in crisis, when survival demands it. That kind of trust has limits, Elaria. It belongs to the field, to the work, to the parts of life where loss is expected." Her eyes never left Elaria's.

"You do not carry that trust back with you when the fighting ends. You do not extend it into what is meant to be sheltered. You do not place it in the spaces where a child is meant to be safe, not hardened, not treated as another obligation to endure. Not unless you wish for her precisely what you had." Elaria could not place precisely why she felt more unsettled than usual as she moved through the streets of Karthvale.

People passed her in steady currents—merchants, laborers, travelers—many of them glancing her way, their eyes lingering on her armor before quickly sliding elsewhere. Ash drizzle had settled sometime during the day. Fine grains of gray dust clung to the stone roads and gathered along windowsills, collected in the shallow seams of doorframes and the narrow mouths of alleys. It marked every passing step with faint prints that blurred almost as soon as they formed. Elaria paid it little mind.

Her thoughts remained fixed on Lorin's words, turning them over carefully. She still did not think the woman entirely correct in her assessment. It was true that Serel's existence had altered the foundation of her interactions with Mournvale, and that this change called for a shift in how they acted toward one another. But that adjustment was already well underway. To begin thinking of Mournvale as a 'friend'—even if it was merely in the act of naming her as one—felt largely immaterial.

A matter of terminology rather than substance. It would not change the core of what was already their relationship. To her, it was a strange place to put such significance on. And yet, she was aware that this very outlook was likely part of what distinguished her from Mournvale. Part of what made the woman so much more naturally suited to the role she now occupied. She found herself crossing a market square where stalls and temporary booths had been erected in uneven rows, peddling wares of every description.

Some displays were clearly the work of practiced merchants—carefully arranged goods, polished wood, measured prices—while others consisted of little more than crates and cloth laid directly upon the dusty stone. Elaria's attention was caught by one of the latter. It sat near the edge of the square, tucked against the wall of an old building where the street narrowed into an alley. The stall itself amounted to three stacked crates and a faded blanket spread on the ground, with a man seated cross-legged upon it.

Her gaze settled on a wooden sword. It was dark-stained, shaped with obvious care, and proportioned for small hands. Plain, but clearly made for use rather than ornament. And perhaps suitable for a child. She stopped. A thought she would not ordinarily have entertained occurred to her. Vera had visited a Resonance crafter in Karthvale to prepare a gift for Serel. She seemed to possess an uncanny sense for what the girl would enjoy.

Elaria did not fully understand it, but she could see that Vera invested care and deliberation in such things. Would it be appropriate, then, for Elaria to give Serel something of her own? Common sense suggested that it was. Or at the very least, that it was acceptable. The difficulty lay in finding something that would resonate with the child in any meaningful way. Elaria was aware that the girl enjoyed drawing, but Vera had already supplied her with tools enough to support that interest.

Serel also appeared to like… dolls, if Vera's words were to be trusted. But once more, that was something the woman already possessed in piles. Music was another fondness Serel had shown, yet that too was a realm Vera seemed well prepared for, while Elaria lacked even the most basic familiarity with it. She realized that there were very few things outside of battle that she could truly offer.

Without quite intending to, she found herself standing before the low, makeshift stall, her attention fixed upon the wooden sword. The purveyor looked up as her shadow crossed the blanket.

"A swordwoman, I take it? That one's blackpine. Doesn't splinter or warp easily. Perfect for a youngling's hand grasping at the shape of a blade before it knows the weight of one." Elaria turned her attention to him. She had thought him unremarkable at first glance—travel-worn clothes, dark hair bound back without little care—but her eye was drawn to the sheathed sword resting across his legs. He noticed and smiled, resting his palm against the sheath.

"My companion," he said simply.

"Through many roads."

"You are a swordsman?" Elaria asked, reassessing him. She sensed very little Resonance, so she had assumed him to be a regular citizen. First or Second Binding, at most. But his posture did suggest familiarity with the weapon.

"A swordsman. A wanderer. A student," he said with a faint shrug.

"I answer to any of them. In the end, I am merely a traveler seeking the height of my art. And the enlightenment that comes with it." Elaria's eyes widened a fraction.

"You walk the sword's path." He inclined his head.

"That I do. It is always nice to be recognized by a sister of the blade." She studied him in silence for a moment, a new measure of respect settling in her expression. For most, power was pursued through Resonance. Through higher Bindings, the patronage of Houses, and the security of established paths. The methods were proven, efficient, and rarely questioned. Few ever seriously contemplated alternatives. Yet among all pursuits, there were always those who diverged. Those who sought not power, but mastery.

The refinement of skill taken to its furthest edge. Elaria had heard of those who walked the sword's path and nothing else. Stories of their discipline and precision. But she had never met one in person. In truth, she had long suspected there might be none left. Lacking strength in the world as it stood meant relying on little more than luck that the tribulations would not one day find you. It required a particular kind of dedication to accept that reality and continue regardless.

As a swordswoman, it was a dedication she could not help but respect.

"So," the man said, gesturing toward the wooden sword.

"Are you interested? I made it myself while traveling through Crestfall Rise." Elaria looked to it.

"You made it yourself?" She glanced at the other items. They were all modest tools and trinkets.

"A traveling man needs to earn his fare somehow. They may be humble offerings, but I believe fortune favors those who choose with care. If you're thinking of giving that sword to another, it may serve as a small beginning along a path you share with the recipient." Elaria regarded him, then knelt and picked up the sword to test it. For its size and material, she was impressed by the balance.

"How much?"

"I think two silver would be a fair price." She considered briefly, then produced the coins and passed them to him. He accepted them with a nod.

"Thank you, sister of the blade." She watched him for several moments longer.

"Would you be interested in a spar?" she finally asked.

"I would restrain myself to the First Binding." He offered a faint, apologetic smile.

"I would, but not today." He gestured over his wares.

"Once these are sold, I'll be leaving the city. If the fates allow it, perhaps we'll meet again, and we can exchange blows then."

"That is unfortunate." She secured the sword within her Vaultring and turned.

"Then if the fates will it." She left with a trace of lingering interest, but chose not to dwell on it. The talents of one who followed the pure path of the sword intrigued her, but it was far removed from her own. She was not one to linger on what was impractical or not meant for her. She continued through Karthvale's streets and neared the outskirts of the city. Soon, she passed through the gates and looked beyond them, a slow irritation gathering in her chest.

She had been so preoccupied with other thoughts that it only dawned on her now that Mournvale had never bothered to say where she had gone.