Chapter 26

  Back in the town, Ren stood beside Farin behind the tavern after the last customer had gone. The evening air smelled of old wood and fresh herbs; someone had thrown lemon balm clippings on the hearth fire, and the smoke curled sweetly through the alleys.

  Farin leaned on the back doorframe, still holding the half-finished avocado toast Ren had forced on him after dinner. His expression had shifted several times over the course of their conversation—shock, relief, frustration—and finally settled on something closer to concern.

  “Alright,” Farin said. “One more time. Slowly. You got abducted—by some secret group?”

  “Rescued,” Ren corrected.

  “Sure. Rescued. By a group that made you swear a magical oath so hard you can’t even tell me who they are?”

  Ren hesitated. Then nodded.

  Farin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like someone trying to make peace with a poorly written tavern play. “And you’re okay with that?”

  “I’m alive,” Ren said. “And I’m learning more than I ever thought possible. Stuff I didn’t even know I needed. Cooking, fighting, mana theory… forest mushrooms that might explode if you over-sauté them.”

  Farin gave him a flat look.

  “Okay, that last one was mostly trial and error.”

  “Ren…” Farin rubbed at his neck. “I get it. Kind of. I really do. You were in danger, and you did what you had to. But—just so you know, you disappearing like that? It wrecked people.”

  Ren lowered his gaze.

  “Your house was torn apart,” Farin went on. “The Church came through and left it like a crime scene. Folks thought you were dead. Hell, I thought you were dead.”

  “I couldn’t tell anyone,” Ren said quietly. “Not even you. The Oath… it locks more than just words. It locks truth. Every time I try to say something that breaks the pact, it’s like… my tongue forgets how to shape it.”

  Farin looked like he wanted to argue—but in the end, he just let out a long breath.

  “I get it. Sort of. Doesn’t mean I like it. But… if you’re here now, that means something.”

  “I missed this place,” Ren admitted. “More than I thought I would.”

  “Yeah?” Farin gave him a sideways glance. “Then maybe don’t vanish for another month. Or if you do, send snacks.”

  Ren chuckled. “Deal.”

  A silence settled between them. Not uncomfortable—just lived-in.

  Then, Farin added, more quietly, “You seem different.”

  Ren looked down at his hands. They were calloused now. His grip steadier. His mind faster. But also… heavier.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I think I am.”

  Farin gave a small nod. “Well. Don’t get too mysterious. We’ve got enough weirdos in this town already.”

  Ren smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He turned to glance back at the woods.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “I should get going soon. They’ll be expecting me back before nightfall.”

  Farin nodded again, slower this time. “Just… stay safe. Alright? Whatever you’re doing out there—just don’t lose who you are. You’re still the guy who made spicy root stew for half a town and didn’t complain.

  Ren’s mouth quirked. “Because no one else would cook.”

  “Still counts.”

  They shared a look. Quiet. Honest.

  And just before Ren turned to leave, Farin added casually, “By the way, I took over The Sleazy Snake and started learning how too cook.”

  “What!”

  “See you soon, ghost-chef.” He said as he slammed the door with a grin.”

  Ren shook his head with a laugh and disappeared into the evening shadows, the quiet warmth of familiarity chasing him all the way back into the trees.

  ______________

  By the time Ren returned to the ruins of the old elven capital, the air felt different.

  Not in the arcane sense but in the quiet tension that clung to the halls. Scouts moved briskly, speaking in low tones. The training fields were quieter than usual. Even the ever-present arguments between the runesmiths and the logistics mages had dwindled to terse mutters.

  “Back late,” said a familiar rasp. said Sinclair, one of the scouts. arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. “You get lost? Or pick up a side quest and forget to log it?”

  Ren rolled his eyes. “Just dropped by town.”

  “Mm.” He studied him a moment longer, then nodded toward the inner courtyard. “Ethan’s in a mood. Said you should check in.”

  “Great,” Ren muttered, adjusting his pack. “Is it ‘I broke a plate’ mood or ‘the world’s on fire mood’.

  “Second one. Maybe worse.”

  He found Ethan seated under the broken ribs of an old colonnade, a pot of tea steaming beside him, untouched. Several parchments were spread around him like the wind had tried to shuffle a tarot reading but got bored halfway through. He didn’t look up when Ren approached.

  “You’re late.”

  “It’s been a month since I’ve been to town, come on man.”

  Ethan shook his head

  , then gestured to sit. For a moment, the only sound was the whisper of papers and the crackle of far-off wards humming with low mana tension.

  Ren hesitated. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

  Ethan didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked toward one of the nearby spires, barely more than an outline in the dusk. “How much did you overhear before you left?”

  “Nothing,” Ren said honestly. “But… the forest felt different on the way back.”

  At that, Ethan finally turned. His eyes were sharper than usual. Not angry. Just… tired.

  “There’s talk,” he said quietly. “More than talk. Whispers, from all corners of the continent. Places that should be quiet going loud. Seals fraying. Old dungeons waking up. And a few things that shouldn’t exist—reappearing.”

  Ren swallowed. “Is it the Church?”

  “They’re part of it. Maybe the match. But not the fire.”

  A long silence stretched.

  Then, softly, Ethan added, “Some of the older Writ-bound are calling it The Collapse.”

  Ren blinked. “That’s…not exactly subtle.”

  “I didn’t say they were poets.” Ethan’s mouth twitched, just a fraction. “But they’re not wrong. Whatever’s coming—it’s not a single event. It’s a series. Dominoes. And someone’s tipping them.”

  Ren stared at the stones beneath his feet. The warmth of Farin’s kitchen felt like it belonged to another lifetime.

  “Do we know who?”

  Ethan shook his head. “Not yet. But we’ve started losing contact with smaller order bases. And some of the relics and sites these bases protect? Acting up.”

  There was a pause. Then Ethan looked at him squarely.

  “I let you go back because you earned it. But we may not have that kind of luxury for long. Things are moving now. Faster than they should.”

  Ren nodded slowly. “What do you need me to do?”

  “For now?” Ethan leaned back, pouring a cup of tea at last. “Sleep. You’re joining the northern survey team tomorrow. We’re checking on a dungeon site that’s been quiet since before I was born.”

  Ren blinked. “You have a birthdate?”

  “Don’t get smart. Go wash up. We leave at dawn.”

  As Ren turned to protest, something in the air shifted—soft, faint. Like a whisper behind glass. He froze.

  A voice, low, melodic, almost sensual brushed against his mind.

  They gather like crows. And still you stir the pot.

  He spun. Nothing there.

  Just the wind, brushing through the old columns like breath through hollow bones.

  He shivered, then kept walking. Maybe it was nothing.

  But he didn’t look back.

  Not this time.