The great hall felt emptier this time. No council of elders, no whispers bouncing off the walls. Only the lord sat upon the high seat, the weight of his presence filling the chamber all the same.

Arden and his party bowed their heads politely.

"There's no need for that," the lord said, his voice softer than before. It lacked the sharp command of their last meeting, but the pressure he carried still pressed down, reminding them who he was.

"I've heard of the Outbounds these past days," he continued, folding his hands as his gaze swept over them. "You did well on the supply route. I'll give you that."

Arden stepped forward slightly, his tone calm. "We only did what was asked of us, my lord. Nothing more."

The man's expression shifted, his words carrying more weight now. "Do not take it so lightly. You've crossed the path of the organization, whether you admit it or not. You've been lucky until now, but know this, luck won't shield you forever."

The room grew quiet. Arden's eyes hardened as he listened, his voice steady but edged. "Why then? If you and the great clans are aware of them, why isn't anyone acting? Why leave them to roam unchecked, preying on merchants and bleeding your own towns?"

The lord leaned back, letting out a slow breath. "You think too simply. An organization of that size doesn't grow without roots. Without backing. And when you cannot see who stands behind them, you don't swing blindly, or you cut your own throat."

Arden studied him, suspicion flickering across his face. The lord caught it, and for a moment a faint smile tugged at his lips. "It's good you don't trust easily. Hold on to that. Trust only the allies you've chosen with your own hands. Nothing more."

Arden tilted his head slightly. "Then why tell me this?"

The question hung in the air. The lord shifted faintly on his seat, his eyes sliding once toward Nyra. She had her head lowered, her fists clenched tightly at her side. Arden noticed, and so did the others.

The silence was heavy enough to crack, until the lord finally spoke again, his tone carrying something raw beneath it.

"Because I owe you. For giving my daughter a chance I couldn't."

The words cut through the hall like a blade. Nyra froze, and though Arden had suspected, hearing it spoken aloud still shook him. He glanced at her, saw the tremor in her shoulders, and the tears beginning to well despite her silence.

Rael's mouth fell open. "D-Daughter? Are you saying… Nyra…?"

The lord's eyes didn't waver. "Yes. Not many know, but the higher council did. They all knew. That's why it was so easy for them to use her. They waited for her affinity to spiral out of control, and when it did, they had their excuse. They called it exile, but it was a sentence written long before she ever fell."

Nyra's tears slid down her cheeks, but she kept her gaze low. The lord's voice faltered, a quiet helplessness bleeding through his otherwise steady tone.

"I couldn't stop them. I had no way to stabilize her. No way to protect her. All I could do was watch as they stripped her of her name and sent her into the Outlands. That was my failure as a father, and as a ruler."

For the first time, the mask of command on the man cracked, and his sadness slipped through. He looked directly at Arden. "But you— somehow you gave her control. You've done what even I couldn't. For that, I can only be grateful."

The hall was silent but for the sound of Nyra's quiet sobs. She still didn't raise her head, but that silence confirmed everything more than words could.

The lord's voice steadied again, though softer now. "Take care of her. Protect her in ways I could not. If you ever need my help, you may come to me. That is all I can give."

Arden's jaw tightened. He bowed his head slightly, his tone carrying a rare, genuine weight. "Then you have my word. I'll watch over her. Thank you, for your trust."

The man gave a faint nod. "Go then. That is all I wished to say."

Arden turned, leading his group out of the chamber. Nyra lingered a moment longer, her eyes finally lifting just enough to meet her father's. His gaze was heavy, filled with regret that words could never wash away.

She broke the look first, her tears falling again as she turned quickly to follow Arden out.

The great doors shut behind them, and the weight of the hall was gone, but not from their hearts.

The talk with the lord left the group restless.

His words carried weight, and though none of them said it outright, the doubts seeded in their hearts burned into a sharper need for strength. If the organization was moving, then they had to be ready.

Arden led them through Greyhold's streets until the wooden sign of the Three Mugs Bar came into view. The noise of laughter and clinking mugs rolled out from inside, but they ignored it and went straight to the counter.

"We're looking for Boro," Arden said simply.

The receptionist, far more respectful than the last they'd dealt with in Greyhold, gave a quick nod and disappeared through the back.

Moments later, Boro's stocky frame came into sight. He grinned wide as he spotted them, his voice carrying across the room.

"Well, well! Arden! Outbounds! I keep hearing your name everywhere, and for once it isn't whispered like a curse." He strode forward, hand outstretched.

Arden smirked faintly, brushing off the praise with a shake of his head as he clasped Boro's hand. "If you keep talking like that, people will think you're our bard. Stick to business, you're better at that."

Boro laughed, the handshake firm before he released. "Fine, fine. Then business it is. I've been waiting for you."

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