章 15: Chapter 15

We arrived back at the mansion after spending half the day enjoying the peaceful escape that Silver Brook Retreat offered. The ride back was quiet but not tense—comfortable, almost soothing, as though the weight of the day's sorrows had been temporarily lifted. Elara leaned against me, her eyes heavy with a mixture of weariness and quiet thought.

"I'm scared," she murmured, her voice so soft it was almost lost in the rhythm of the carriage wheels. "But I think I'm going to be okay."

I glanced down at her, my heart aching at her vulnerability. "You will be," I said firmly. "I'm here."

She gave me the faintest of smiles, then rested her head on my shoulder. "As long as you're with me, I think I can get through this," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly but filled with conviction.

Without thinking, I shifted closer and held her more protectively. "I'm here, Elara," I assured her. "Always."

She gave a soft laugh, the kind that was more breath than sound. "You smell much nicer now," she teased lightly, burying her face against me as if testing the truth of her words.

I smiled, relieved to see her spirits lifting. "Yeah, thanks to you."

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she hummed in agreement, snuggling closer. If anyone were to see this scene, I'd probably be executed for it—no questions asked. But right now, none of that mattered. She needed this—someone to lean on, someone to hold her steady through the storm in her heart. And I was glad I could be that person for her.

By the time we reached the mansion, the sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of deep gold and fiery orange. The last rays of sunlight cast a warm glow over the land, but it only seemed to heighten the somber air that clung to the estate. There was a heaviness in the atmosphere, an invisible weight that pressed down on everything. It was the kind of sadness that didn't need to be spoken aloud—it was simply felt, like an echo of grief rippling through the air.

Elara shifted beside me, her earlier lightheartedness fading. Her hands tightened slightly on the hem of her dress, and her eyes closed as though she was steeling herself for what was to come. She didn't say anything, but I could see it—she knew, just as I did, that the soldiers sent to retrieve the queen's body had returned.

The mansion itself seemed to reflect that grief. The usual bustle of servants and guards was absent, replaced by an unsettling quiet. Only the faint flicker of lantern light illuminated the darkened halls, casting long, wavering shadows that felt more oppressive than comforting. The air inside was cold, and the silence was broken only by the faint creak of the wooden floors beneath our feet.

The magistrate stood waiting for us near the entrance. He bowed deeply to Elara, his face lined with solemnity.

"Your Highness," he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper in the stillness. "The king has asked to spend the evening with Her Majesty. He wishes to be alone with her tonight. When you feel ready, you may see her tomorrow morning."

Elara didn't say a word. She merely nodded, her face pale and drawn. The magistrate, sensing her state, inclined his head respectfully and stepped aside to let us pass.

We made our way back to her room in silence, the weight of grief hanging over us like a storm cloud. When we reached the door and stepped inside, the moment it clicked shut behind us, Elara crumpled to the floor as though her legs could no longer hold her.

Her small frame trembled as sobs broke from her chest, raw and uncontrollable. The sound of her grief tore through the quiet room, each sob more heart-wrenching than the last. Her hands gripped the fabric of her dress as though trying to ground herself, but it was no use. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, her anguish laid bare in a way that left no room for words.

I knelt beside her, feeling utterly helpless. "Elara..." I whispered, my voice breaking as I reached out to her. But what could I say? What words could ease a pain like this? There were none.

Instead, I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her against me as she sobbed into my chest. She clung to me desperately, her hands clutching at my shirt like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart entirely. Her cries were muffled against me, but the sheer depth of her sorrow was unmistakable. It wasn't just grief—it was despair, fear, and the unbearable weight of loss all at once.

"It's okay," I murmured softly, though I knew it wasn't. "I'm here. I've got you."

Her sobs didn't lessen, and I didn't expect them to. All I could do was hold her, keep her close, and let her cry until there was nothing left. As the minutes stretched on, her cries began to quiet, replaced by shaky breaths and the occasional hiccup. But even as the tears stopped, the pain in her eyes remained, raw and unhealed.

For now, though, she leaned against me, utterly spent, and I stayed there with her, holding her close as the darkness outside deepened and the world seemed to mourn with her.

I found myself alone, Elara wasn't with me. She was with the king, saying goodbye to the Queen.

I wandered into the quieter part of the garden, far from the mansion's somber walls. This corner was more overgrown, less tended—a place where nature seemed to breathe freely, unhindered. The trees loomed tall, their branches swaying gently in the cold wind. The air was heavy, and the clouds above churned dark and foreboding, threatening to spill rain at any moment. The scent of damp earth filled my nostrils, and the gray sky seemed to press down on the world.

I couldn't help but feel the sadness that radiated through the mansion and its grounds. It clung to the air, thick and unshakable, like an invisible shroud.

The weight of it made me think of a song. A song my father used to sing when my mother passed away—killed in a bandit raid, the memory as sharp now as it had been then. It was a song born of grief but meant to comfort. A song from our village, one that carried the ache of loss and the hope of reunion.

"Beneath the boundless sky so wide,

Where fields and streams and hearts reside,

She walks where mortal eyes can't see,

But in the wind, she calls to me."

"Her voice is soft, her steps are light,

She wanders in the endless night.

But still her warmth, I feel it near,

A fleeting touch, a memory dear."

"Though rain may fall and rivers weep,

Her dreams are mine, in shadows deep.

And when my time at last shall cease,

We'll meet again, in endless peace."

The melody echoed in my mind, and without realizing it, I hummed it softly, my voice carried by the gentle breeze. It wasn't much, but it eased the heaviness in my chest. I thought of Elara, of her grief, and of the king's quiet despair.

And for a moment, I closed my eyes, letting the song and the garden's quiet embrace hold me, wishing that it could somehow ease their pain too.

"That was a fitting tune," the magistrate remarked as he approached me with his characteristic calm, his hands clasped behind his back, his voice quiet but firm.

"It is a sad time for the king and the kingdom," he continued, stopping beside me. "The Queen was deeply cherished by her people, and her loss will be felt far beyond these walls."

I made a small noise of acknowledgment, unsure of how to respond. It wasn't like him to linger without a purpose. Normally, he only spoke to me when necessary or if he had something of importance to say. The fact that he remained here made it clear he had a reason. I suspected he did.

"I came to find you," he said, as if reading my thoughts.

I turned to face him fully now, curious.

"I have yet to thank you for saving my life," he continued, his tone carefully measured, as always. "And I believe this should convey my sincere gratitude."

With a fluid motion, the magistrate reached into his coat and pulled out a small artifact. It fit neatly into the palm of his hand and gleamed faintly in the dim light. The object was circular, made of polished silver alloy etched with intricate glyphs around its edges. In the center was a small, glowing crystal, pulsating faintly like a heartbeat.

I stared at it in amazement as he handed it to me. The artifact felt warm to the touch, almost alive.

"This is a Scrying Compass," the magistrate explained. "A tool of subtle precision. It can detect hidden threats within a certain radius, track specific people or objects, and even guide you through unfamiliar terrain. It is powered by the mana shard in its center, which will recharge naturally over time in sunlight or through external glyph energy."

He gestured toward the glowing glyphs engraved on its rim. "These glyphs will allow you to switch between modes: detection, tracking, and navigation. It will serve you well, should danger ever find you again—which, I suspect, it might. And rest assured, I am entrusting this to you with the king's blessing."

I turned the compass in my hands, watching as its faint glow shifted when I tilted it. "Thank you," I said, my voice filled with genuine awe. "This is... incredible. I don't know how to repay you."

"There is no debt to repay," the magistrate said simply. "Consider it a token of gratitude—and perhaps preparation. The world is changing, young Caelan, and you may find yourself in its path more often than you would wish."

With that, he gave me a faint nod and turned, leaving me alone with the weight of his words and the remarkable artifact now in my hands.