Chapter 7

  The Whispering Woods were relentless. The canopy, a ceiling of bio-luminescent leaves and interlocking branches, trapped the humidity of the day and the chill of the night in equal measure. It was a beautiful, suffocating emerald cage.

  ?Homer adjusted the straps of his pack, the leather biting into his shoulders. It was a grounding sensation, a reminder that he was currently "Homer of Cupang," a Copper-Rank adventurer, and not the Architect of the Apocalypse.

  ?Beside him, Elara moved with the silent grace of a predator. She didn't sweat. She didn't stumble. She just projected a continuous, low-frequency field of disapproval.

  ?"You are stepping heavy," she criticized, not looking back. "A blind ogre could track you."

  ?"I'm creating a presence," Homer wheezed slightly, stepping over a root the size of a python. "It intimidates the wildlife."

  ?"It invites them to dinner," she corrected.

  ?Homer ignored her, letting his mind drift. Walking for hours in silence gave him too much time to think, and when Homer thought, he inevitably drifted back to the Before.

  ?His parents hadn't been scientists. They hadn't been soldiers or politicians. They were Professors of Literature at the University of New Manila. His father, Arthur, could recite Shakespeare as if he’d written it himself, his voice booming in the lecture hall. His mother, Sarah, was quieter, a lover of Victorian poetry and—strangely enough—soldering irons.

  ?Flashback.

  ?The smell of old paper and ozone. His mother’s study.

  ?She was hunched over a circuit board, a magnifying glass clamped to her eye. Beside her lay a first edition of 'Great Expectations'.

  ?"Why electronics, Mom?" Teenage Homer asked, leaning against the doorframe. He was holding his acceptance letter to the Engineering program.

  ?She looked up, pushing the magnifying glass onto her forehead. "Because poetry explains the soul, Homer. But circuits? Circuits make the lights turn on so you can read it."

  ?She smiled, but it was weak. The sickness was already taking hold. A degenerative neural condition. Incurable. It had taken his father six months prior. Now, it was taking her.

  ?"I'm going to fix it," Homer said, his voice cracking. "I'm going into bio-engineering. Med-tech. I'll find a cure."

  ?"Oh, my sweet boy," she sighed, beckoning him over. "You can't fix mortality. It's the punctuation at the end of the sentence. Without it, the story has no meaning."

  ?"I don't care about the story," Homer gripped her hand. "I care about the people reading it."

  ?She died three months later. And in the vacuum of their absence, Homer’s obsession was born. He stopped reading poetry. He stopped caring about the 'why' of the world and focused entirely on the 'how'. If the human body was a machine that could break, he would build a machine that could fix it. He would build the Nanites.

  ?Nero had been there at the funeral. He was studying Law then, already practicing his politician’s smile, though on that day, his face was wet with tears.

  ?"You build the future, Homer," Nero had said, putting a hand on his shoulder—the same hand that would, eons later, condemn him to the ice. "I'll write the laws to make sure it's safe. We'll protect them. We won't let anyone else die like this."

  ?End Flashback.

  ?Homer blinked, the green of the forest replacing the grey of the cemetery. The grief was ancient, three hundred thousand years old, but it felt like yesterday.

  ?"Heart rate elevated," Castor noted softly. "Cortisol spike detected. You are ruminating, Architect."

  ?"Just remembering why, I do this," Homer murmured. "Why I can't walk past a broken wheel."

  ?"Because you couldn't fix the one thing that mattered," Castor analyzed. "Typical psychological displacement."

  ?"You're a real comfort, Castor."

  ?A scream cut through the forest.

  ?It wasn't a human scream. It was a guttural roar, followed by the clash of steel and the frantic shouting of voices.

  ?Elara stopped instantly, her hand flying to her sword hilt. "Combat. North-East. Roughly two hundred meters."

  ?"Let's go," Homer said, already moving.

  ?"Wait!" Elara hissed. "It is likely a territorial dispute between beasts. We should bypass it."

  ?"Sounded like people," Homer argued, breaking into a jog.

  ?"Inefficient!" Elara snarled, but she followed him, if only to ensure he didn't get himself eaten.

  ?They burst into a small clearing dominated by a circle of ancient standing stones. Inside the circle, a group of four adventurers was fighting for their lives.

  ?They were low-rank—mostly Copper and Iron. A human warrior with a dented shield, a gnome tossing small firecrackers, and two goblin archers. They were surrounded by a pack of six wolves.

  ?But these weren't normal wolves. Their fur rippled like oil on water, shifting colors to match the background. Phase Wolves. They flickered in and out of reality, biting and vanishing before the counter-attack could land.

  ?The human warrior swung his sword, but the wolf simply phased through the blade and clamped its jaws onto his pauldron, crumpling the metal.

  ?"Back! Back!" the Gnome screamed, throwing a black powder bomb that popped with a pathetic bang, doing little more than annoying the beasts.

  ?"Castor, analysis," Homer commanded, stopping at the edge of the clearing.

  "?Phase Wolves," Castor reported. "They shift into a sub-spatial pocket to avoid damage. However, they must materialize to attack. Wait for the strike."

  ?Homer extended his hand. He didn't use a wand. He didn't chant. He just reached out with his mind, tapping into the registered 'Wind Affinity' he had claimed at the Guild.

  ?"Elara, stay back," Homer said.

  ?"You are going to get yourself killed," she warned, crossing her arms. "Phase Wolves are resistant to physical damage."

  ?Homer focused. He didn't try to hit them. He waited.

  ?A wolf lunged for one of the goblin archers, materializing mid-air for the kill.

  ?Now.

  ?Homer clenched his fist.

  ?Ventus Carceris (Wind Prison).

  ?He didn't speak the words. He just visualized the air around the wolf becoming solid. The atmosphere instantly pressurized, slamming into the beast from all sides.

  ?The wolf yelped as it was frozen in mid-air, held by invisible hands of compressed air. It thrashed, but the wind held it tight.

  ?"Hit it now!" Homer shouted to the stunned adventurers.

  ?The Goblin archer didn't hesitate. He loosed an arrow straight into the wolf's open mouth. The beast went limp.

  ?Homer released the pressure, dropping the carcass.

  ?"Another one!" the Human warrior shouted.

  ?Homer spun, his mind working like a tactical computer. He caught two more wolves mid-leap, slamming them into the ground with a burst of downdraft. Thud. Thud.

  ?"Strike!" Homer commanded.

  ?The warrior brought his sword down, finishing the pinned beasts.

  ?The remaining three wolves, sensing that the tide had turned and their phasing ability was being countered by this strange mage, turned tail and vanished into the undergrowth.

  ?The clearing went silent, save for the heavy breathing of the adventurers.

  ?Homer lowered his hand, feigning exhaustion. He wiped a fake bead of sweat from his forehead. "Everyone okay?"

  ?The human warrior, bleeding from a scratch on his cheek, walked over. He looked at Homer, then at the dead wolves.

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  ?"That was... impressive timing, friend," the warrior panted. "Wind mage?"

  ?"Something like that," Homer nodded.

  ?The Gnome scurried over, looking at the carcasses. "Phase pelts! Intact! We can sell these for... maybe five silvers each if the tanner is drunk."

  ?The group gathered their spoils. The warrior dug into his pouch and pulled out a handful of coins. He counted them out—mostly copper, with a few clipped silver pieces.

  ?"Here," the warrior said, pressing the coins into Homer's hand. "It's not much. We haven't had a payout in weeks. But you saved our hides."

  ?Homer looked at the meager payment. It was barely enough to buy a loaf of bread.

  ?"Thanks," Homer said genuinely. "Buy yourselves a round on me next time you're in town."

  ?"ARE YOU JOKING?"

  ?The shout came from behind Homer. Elara marched into the clearing, her eyes blazing with indignation. She pointed a gauntleted finger at the warrior.

  ?"You offer him copper?" Elara spat. "He just saved your lives! He used mana! He risked injury! And you offer him the scraps from your pocket? Have you no dignity? No honor?"

  ?The warrior shrank back, intimidated by the High Elf’s aura. "M-my lady... it's all we have..."

  ?"Then you should not be adventurers!" Elara raged. "If you cannot afford to pay for your rescue, you should stay in the fields! This is an insult to the profession! It is an insult to him!"

  ?One of the Goblins, a scarred little fellow with one ear, stepped forward. He spat on the ground near Elara’s immaculate boots.

  ?"Oi, long-ears," the Goblin rasped. "Shut your trap. The mage helped. You? You stood there watching like we were a play. You didn't lift a finger. So don't lecture us on honor."

  ?Elara went rigid. Her hand flew to her sword, the steel singing as she drew it half an inch from the scabbard. "You dare speak to a High Guard like that, scavenger?"

  ?"Elara, stop," Homer said, stepping between them. He pushed her gently—just a nudge on the shoulder.

  ?It was a gentle push, but Elara felt the weight behind it. It wasn't just muscle; it was immovable object meeting force. She stumbled back a step, shocked more by the contact than the strength.

  ?"Put the sword away," Homer said, his voice low. "They paid. I accepted. Transaction closed."

  ?The Human warrior stepped up, pulling the Goblin back. He looked at Homer, then at Elara.

  ?"You've got a good heart, mage," the warrior said, eyeing Elara with distaste. "But you might want to put a leash on your arrogant friend. She's going to get you into a fight you can't talk your way out of."

  ?"I'm working on it," Homer sighed. "Safe travels."

  ?The group gathered their kills and hurried away, casting wary glances at the fuming Elf.

  ?Homer turned to Elara. She was trembling with rage.

  ?"They insulted me," she hissed. "And you defended them."

  ?"You insulted them first," Homer said, starting to walk again. "And for the record, the Goblin was right. You didn't help."

  ?"I am observing!"

  ?"Then observe quietly," Homer said. "Copper buys bread. Pride just buys you empty air."

  ?They walked in icy silence for another three hours.

  ?As the suns began to dip below the tree line, the dense forest finally broke. They stumbled out of the undergrowth onto a dirt path that showed signs of recent use—deep ruts from wagon wheels.

  ?"This isn't on the map," Homer said, pulling out the chart Castor had generated.

  ?"It shouldn't be," Elara frowned, looking around. "This area is designated as a Wilderness Zone. No settlements are permitted within fifty kilometers of the Whispering Woods core."

  ?And yet, there it was.

  ?Ahead of them lay a small village. It was rustic, composed of maybe fifteen or twenty houses built from rough-hewn timber and stone. The architecture was distinctively Middle Ages—thatched roofs, smoking chimneys, and a wooden palisade that looked like it would struggle to keep out a determined badger, let alone a monster.

  ?Despite its illegality, it was thriving. Homer saw a blacksmith with a door so small only a dwarf could use it comfortably. He saw a general store with a sign offering "Fresh Roots." He even saw a small building with a symbol of a mortar and pestle—a hedge wizard or alchemist.

  ?"Buli," a signpost read. The paint was peeling.

  ?"Buli," Homer read. "It's a settlement."

  ?"It's a death trap," Elara corrected. "This place... I remember this place."

  ?Before Homer could ask, a commotion erupted near the center of the village.

  ?A crowd had gathered near the village well. Humans, Beastkin, and a few Dwarves were shouting, some weeping. In the center of the mob stood a large man with a thick beard, looking distraught.

  ?"Please!" the man shouted. "Someone! The tracks lead to the ravine! She can't have gone far!"

  ?A group of three adventurers—likely passing through—were shaking their heads. "Sorry, Bourne. The ravine is Wyvern territory. If she went down there... she's gone. We aren't risking our necks for a corpse."

  ?Homer walked up to the edge of the crowd. Elara followed, her nose wrinkled in disdain.

  ?"What's happening?" Homer asked a bystander.

  ?"It's Bourne's daughter," the woman sobbed. "Sisi. She went looking for herbs this morning. She hasn't come back. They found her basket near the Drop."

  ?The leader, Bourne, saw Elara’s armor. His eyes lit up with desperate hope. He rushed over, falling to his knees in the mud.

  ?"A High Guard!" Bourne cried. "Thank the Spires! My lady, please! My daughter... she is lost in the woods. You have to help! You have the power!"

  ?The crowd went silent, looking at the shining Elf like she was a goddess descended to save them.

  ?Elara looked down at the weeping father. She didn't offer a hand. She didn't smile.

  ?"This settlement is illegal," Elara stated coldly. Her voice carried over the crowd. "One hundred years ago, I personally delivered the eviction notice to this valley. I warned your ancestors that this land sits on a mana-fault. I warned them that Wyverns and Werebears hunt here."

  ?Bourne blinked, stunned. "My lady... that was... we have lived here for generations..."

  ?"Because you are stubborn," Elara said. "You ignored the warning. And now, the inevitable has happened. The ravine is a nesting ground. If your daughter fell in, she is dead."

  ?The crowd gasped. A woman fainted. Bourne looked like he had been slapped.

  ?"You... you won't help?" Bourne whispered.

  ?"My mission is elsewhere," Elara said, stepping around him. "I am not here to clean up the mistakes of squatters. You should have moved when you were told."

  ?She began to walk away, her cape flowing behind her. She expected Homer to follow. That was the logic of the world. The strong had important things to do; the weak suffered the consequences of their folly.

  ?She took three steps. Then she realized Homer wasn't behind her.

  ?She stopped and turned.

  ?Homer was standing in front of Bourne. He reached down and pulled the grieving father to his feet.

  ?"Tell me about the ravine," Homer said. His voice was calm, anchoring the panic in the air.

  ?"Homer!" Elara snapped. "We are leaving."

  ?Homer didn't look at her. "Mr. Bourne, tell me. Where is the drop?"

  ?"Just... just north," Bourne stammered, looking from the cold Elf to the dusty human. "About two miles. Please... she's only ten."

  ?"Ten," Homer repeated softly. He looked at the darkening sky. "I'll go."

  ?"You will die," Elara said. She walked back, grabbing Homer’s arm. "You are a Copper Rank. You fight with wind tricks. A Wyvern will eat you whole. And I am not going down there to retrieve your bones."

  ?"Then don't," Homer said, pulling his arm free. "Get a room at the inn. Order some wine. I'll be back."

  ?"You are wasting time!" Elara shouted, losing her composure. "Why? Why do you care? She is dead, human! It is a corpse hunt!"

  ?"Maybe," Homer said. "But her father deserves to know for sure."

  ?He turned to Bourne. "I'll do what I can. No promises. But I'll look."

  ?Bourne grabbed Homer’s hand, weeping openly. "Thank you. Thank you."

  ?Homer looked at Elara. "Go to the inn, Elara. You need your beauty sleep. Your back must hurt from all that... standing around."

  ?He turned and jogged toward the treeline, heading north.

  ?Elara stood there, fuming. The crowd looked at her with a mixture of fear and disappointment. She hated that look. She was the High Guard! She was the protector! But they looked at her like she was the monster.

  ?"Fine!" she shouted at Homer’s retreating back. "Die then! See if I care!"

  ?She spun around and marched toward the only two-story building in town—the inn.

  ?The innkeeper was a Beastkin—a Dog-type with floppy ears and sad eyes. He watched Elara storm in.

  ?"Room," Elara barked.

  ?"For... two?" the Dog asked, looking at the door where Homer had gone.

  ?"One," Elara snapped. "He won't be needing a bed. He'll be sleeping in a Wyvern's stomach."

  ?The Dog looked at her, then at the door. He didn't say anything, but his ears drooped. He handed her a key.

  ?"Top floor," he muttered.

  ?Elara went up the stairs, stomping every step of the way. She slammed the door to her room. It was small, smelling of pine and old wool. There were two beds.

  ?She sat on one, removing her helmet. She stared at the empty bed opposite her.

  ?"He is an idiot," she told the empty room. "He is a suicidal, sentimental, inefficient idiot. He is going to get killed, and then I will have to write a report about how I lost my suspect to a lizard."

  ?She laid back, staring at the ceiling. She tried to sleep. She tried to tell herself it wasn't her problem.

  ?But outside, the wind howled, sounding too much like a scream.

  ?Elara woke with a start.

  ?The suns were rising, casting a pale, grey light through the small window. She sat up, her hand instantly going to her sword.

  ?The bed opposite her was empty. The sheets were untouched.

  ?"He didn't come back," she whispered. A cold knot formed in her stomach.

  ?She stood up and walked to the window. It overlooked the village square.

  ?The village was waking up. People were moving about with somber faces.

  ?And there, standing at the edge of the square, staring intently at the northern treeline, was Bourne.

  ?He was standing exactly where Homer had left him. He looked like he hadn't moved all night. He was just watching. Waiting. Hope warring with despair on his face.

  ?Elara watched him. She saw the raw, naked vulnerability of a father waiting for his child.

  ?She looked at her armor in the reflection of the glass. It shone brightly. It was perfect. It was useless.

  ?"Dammit," Elara cursed.

  ?She grabbed her helmet. She grabbed her sword.

  ?She didn't go downstairs to order breakfast. She kicked the door open and marched out.

  ?"If he's dead," she muttered to herself as she stormed down the stairs, "I am going to resurrect him just so I can kill him myself."

  ?She reached the street and looked North, toward the ravine.

  ?"Wait for me, you idiot," she growled, breaking into a run.