Music is The Vagabond from the Witcher 3 OST, composed by Marcin Przybyłowicz. Play it!

******

The name is odd, yet it truly suits the room it's been given to. Ravens are everywhere—carved into the walls; painted into the furniture; even murdered and stuffed on display atop bookshelves. Their beady black eyes follow me as I try to keep my breathing steady and footsteps even. It's like they know that I'm here—the Deathslayer, wielder of Miraterciel, inheritor of the true power flowing through the Lorelay bloodline. It's like they stir to my very presence, reminding me of who I am every second.

It's rather hard to push the feeling away.

Sunlight streams in through the many windows, bathing everyone in gold. Yet as I take count of the people present—Sir Kendrick, Gilbert, Everest—I can't help but feel that they would look better if the sunlight were moonlight instead. It's as though the layout of the room was meant for the night. It still looks grand in the morning. However...Shadows suit it better.

Or that could be the necromancer in me offering her opinion.

I give myself a small shake, wishing that this meeting could be conducted someplace else.

"Ah, Squire Rutherland." Sir Kendrick peels his eyes off the map before him for a moment to greet me. Right on cue, a cathedral bell tolls ten times. "Just in time, I see."

"Sir Kendrick." I sweep myself into a bow before approaching the table. I nod at Everest—who acknowledges it by returning the gesture—and Gilbert, who barely even seems to note my presence.

I don't blame him. I was absolutely horrible earlier.

"Let's start first. Sir Isaac has taken ill—long journeys are never a good idea for elderly people, even if they're as tough as him," says Sir Kendrick, a hand brushing idly against the map splayed out on the table.

I look at Gilbert, searching for some comfort in the fact that my mentor could very well be linked to the whole infection. But he studiously avoids my gaze, taking interest in a tiny scrawl of black ridges on the map labelled as the Cave of Three Souls, sitting on the border between Perinus and Thiruthia, not too far away from Battein. Perfect. Cartography is more interesting than me now.

"Originally, I'd planned for us to be divided into three groups, investigating the area according to its provinces," Sir Kendrick continues. He slashes a finger across Battein, roughly separating it into its three provinces for emphasis. "But the...unprecedented event now forces us to conduct this investigation differently. We're thinly spread out, and the fact that Sir Isaac doesn't seem to be up to the task makes the situation worse." He finally looks up from the map, brown eyes blazing and boring into everyone. "And the bloody weather here makes our work even more damnable."

We murmur our agreement about the weather. It's true though—the snow seems harsher, wilder. As though we were residing in the Dreyachian Mountains, far away from the comparably mild weather in Perinus.

"Can't we send for more aid from Cordair? Or Rutherland, in the least?" asks Everest. At the mention of my namesake and my place of birth, my attention snaps towards the guard.

"King Terrell had barely agreed to fund this journey," Sir Kendrick says slowly, as though reluctant to let the information spill out. And it's no wonder—what had happened before or after the meeting? Automatically, my eyes find Gilbert's. This time, he doesn't deign to look away. But he looks just as blank as I probably do.

The Bane heaves a heavy sigh. "As of now, Perinus stands in an extremely precarious position—our resources are nearly exhausted, our forces are thinned out, and the people haven't exactly recovered from Diomedes' brief—but effective—moment of terror," he starts to explain. "Yes, initially, King Terrell had agreed wholeheartedly to give as much coin as we need into this investigation. But...after he thought more about it, he wanted to pull out."

"Why?" The question spills out from my lips before I can stop myself.

He gives me a wry, tired smile. "What would the people think of a Bane who's going around literally chasing phantoms? How would it reflect the army—and its king? The citizens' confidence in us is shaky enough as it is. We don't need to give another reason for them to incite hatred towards us."

The people...hating us? The idea has never crossed my mind before. We were doing fine—recovering well for a country which had survived a necromancer's attack. We're trying our best to put Perinus on its feet again. No one could ever blame us for bringing this calamity upon ourselves.

Pietists Above, what hasn't Gilbert told me about his travels?

"There are many of faith," resumes Sir Kendrick, tone dripping with melancholy, "but there are many who are ready to turn against us at a moment's notice. Diomedes's attack was just a trigger for them to act."

I think of the village where I'd first encountered the infected. Its inhabitants were so broken, so scared, so lost. Yes, now I see how the right words, whispered by a person of enough standing in society, could turn the tides against us. I see how our country, once strong and emblazoned in glory, could be shattered within a blink of an eye.

Coldness seeps into the pit of my stomach.

Sir Kendrick shifts on his feet, and the sunlight catches his hair, turning it into molten gold. For a while, he looks like a hero from tales of yore, standing tall and steady, facing any known danger in order to fend others. But I don't fail to note the droop in his shoulders, the vague hint of bags underlining his eyes. He's fighting a brave fight, but he's tired. He's aged considerably, a yawning contrast from the Bane I'd known two years ago, when he was still looking for an apprentice.

Even heroes grow weary, I think. While Captain Eldric was always working behind the scenes, making sure that the inner workings of the capital were running smoothly, Sir Kendrick had always been the official face of our might. The people had always looked towards him for hope—sought him for the promise of a better future. Mine and Gilbert's presence as Champions had helped to ease that burden, but not by much.

"Anyhow, King Terrell had only been convinced that we should conduct this investigation because he gave his word during the council," says Sir Kendrick, shaking off his weariness. The spell over him breaks. "And Captain Eldric played a huge part in that convincing as well." His eyes flit towards me for a moment.

"All of this happening...coincidence?" murmurs Gilbert. His amber eyes glow with intensity. He's thinking. Hard. "Diomedes resurrecting a ghost army which almost brought us to our knees—might very well have already brought us to our knees. The society around us crumbling into chaos. And now this: an infection plaguing only humans."

"It does seem a little too much," admits Everest.

Gilbert looks at his master, shoulders squared. "What if the Prophecy of Far'hellan—whatever it is—is truly unravelling? Be a sceptic if you like and attribute this disease to be an aftereffect of the war, but all these events...they're a chain reaction. They're too closely-knitted to each other to be coincidence."

Sir Kendrick's brows scrunch together. "Gilbert, what are you imply—"

"This investigation is the right thing to do, sir. King Terrell may not see it now, but this will be important in the long run," says Gilbert. "There's something bigger at hand here, not mere politics and talks of a nation's strength—something that will determine the fate of the world."

It's my turn to study the map. I feel Gilbert's gaze settling upon me.

He knows that I will be at the centre of it all, whether I like it or not.

The Bane raises a brow. "You're sounding awfully like Grand Seer Fabienne," he remarks.

"I know I do. But—I know what I'm talking about."

"And I believe you." Sir Kendrick sighs through his nostrils. "Pst. Zorah forgive me, but maybe the Grand Seer does know a few things after all. Thank you for pointing that out to me, Gilbert."

"No worries, sir."

A comfortable silence temporarily settles over us. A mixture of jealousy and admiration well up in me—Gilbert has been practicing his diplomatic skills. And it's paying off well. Really well. Meanwhile, I've been stuck in Castle Cordair, doing nothing but paperwork and training soldiers—barely anything. Suddenly, I resent Captain Eldric for giving me such menial work to do. I'm the Champion of War and Strategy. Surely I can be put to better use? At least—

No. I better stop there. The memories of my mind going into a completely blank rage haunts me, and I cling onto them. Control. I must have control.

"So, the investigation." Sir Kendrick clears his throat; all of us snap back to attention. "Since we can't afford to request any more resources from King Terrell, we're on our own. I could write a letter to Captain Eldric. I'd hate to trouble him though. His men are also thinly spread out as it is. Is that right, Rutherland?"

I give a small nod of affirmation. We'd lost a lot of men when Diomedes had lay siege upon Castle Cordair—good men. We've been struggling to maintain security with our limited power.

"In other words, we'll keep the investigation small but focused. We won't get any information out of the commoners—that I'm sure of. The Lorelays generally don't like to share their 'knowledge' with anyone outside the clan." Sir Kendrick gives me a meaningful look.

"I'm to try and extract as much information as I can out of the Lorelays," I say.

The Bane bobs his head. "That's the idea."

"I don't know if you've noticed, sir, but I'm rather...disconnected from my mother's side of the family," I say. The thought of facing long-lost relatives when my father had been preventing this situation for all my life...it doesn't sit well with me.

"Still, you are half a Lorelay, whether you like it or not," he argues. "Besides, isn't that exactly why you'd signed up for this?"

And so it is. "All right. I'll do it," I say, lifting my chin. I won't appear like a coward in front of him. Even as a part of me recoils at the idea of having to somehow strike up a conversation with so many people.

"Good." He turns towards Everest. "Everest, I'd like you to sift through the libraries here. Grand Seer Fabienne has granted permission to full access to every book within her vicinity."

The guard's eyes rake over the stories of bookshelves lining the walls. His face blanches considerably. "I have to read all the books here?" he squeaks.

"There are two more libraries, each larger than the first," says Sir Kendrick blandly.

"But – sir! It could take years to get through all of these!"

"That's why you'll have Sir Isaac's help. Anyway, the books are sorted into categories. You need only to search for the right ones," Sir Kendrick continues with an affronting cheeriness.

Everest receives the order in defeat. "Yes, sir," he mumbles. I pity him. Under normal circumstances, I'd love the chance to sit down and pore over all the books here, but these aren't normal circumstances. We're pressed for time—and we need time to go through every word, decipher every paragraph.

Finally, Sir Kendrick turns towards Gilbert. "As for you, you shall be accompanying me to investigate the Cave of Three Souls. Grand Seer Fabienne had mentioned something of importance linked to it the last time we'd passed by here."

"With all due respect sir, I think I could be of more use if I accompany Squire Rutherland on his task," Gilbert says quietly.

A golden brow on the Bane's forehead shoots up so high it looks like it might fly off any moment. "Why is that so?" His tone suggests that he's not used to his apprentice directly arguing with him.

"I believe that the presence of someone linked to the Bane could remind them of why they need to answer the questions we ask," Gilbert says. "And with both Champions of War in their midst, the Lorelays may feel more inclined to open up about everything. You know how much they revere anyone chosen by the Pietists."

"Hmm..." Sir Kendrick tilts his head to the side, considering. "Very well then. You and Rutherland go about extracting information from the Lorelays. I'm sure I can manage the Cave of Three Souls on my own."

I give Gilbert a sideways-glance; he winks at me. I smile, glad that I won't have to face the charlatans alone. At least he understands that. I know I'm forgiven for the morning's events.

"Now we have all the tasks divvyed up, we can all set straight to work. Report in within a week." Everest muffles a groan. I bet that he'd give his best sword and most comfortable pair of undergarments for another job to undertake. Sir Kendrick ignores him, slamming a fist onto the table. We all give a jolt. "I don't care what your methods are—just give me the results. Of course, don't resort to anything illegal. We have an image to uphold here."

The Bane eyes Everest, who's probably already scheming the ways he can enslave people to do all the work for him.

"Meeting dismissed. You're all free to go now." Sir Kendrick waves a hand at us expectantly.

Everest is the first to leave, if only to approach a book shelf and stare up at it in disbelief. The poor man looks far too daunted to do anything properly. Still, he bravely reaches up and plucks a few tomes out, hauling them towards a table in a corner of the room. I hear him singing a hymn of Pst. Kamira—patroness of children and patience—under his breath.

"Well? What are you two still doing here?" Sir Kendrick's words draw me out of my lull.

I come to attention, hand snapped into a salute. "Sir," I say, before bowing and striding out of the room. Gilbert does the same.

"Shouldn't you say something?" Gilbert chirps as soon as the door closes behind us.

"Like?"

"A simple 'thank you' should suffice."

"Whatever for?"

"For accompanying you to your doom."

"I don't think interrogating people exactly counts as my doom," I say, frost laced into every syllabus.

"All right, perhaps it doesn't count as your doom. But think of all the poor souls who have to face stone-faced, sour-tongued Constantine Rutherland, Champion of Pst. Bronicus, apprentice to the Captain of the Guard, slayer of Diomedes—"

"Do you really have to cast up all those titles?"

"Just trying to prove how intimidating you are."

"I'm not intimidating," I protest. Right turn here. It should lead Gilbert and me to the West Wing. Hopefully. He's following my lead. Bad choice.

"And I'm a parrot with a spotted leopard's coat," he snorts in return. "By the way, you're heading for the North Atrium. Which is nowhere near the centre-point of the village."

Heat crawls up my cheeks. "I – I knew that," I growl, attempting to recover some of my dignity.

"Mmph," he replies noncommittally. He tugs my elbow and guides me towards a completely different direction.

The heels of our boots clack against the marbled floor, the echoes bouncing off the emptiness of the area. I hear distant crows of merry-making in the distance, from the direction of the North Atrium. "What's all the hooting about?" I ask, determined to switch the topic.

"It's Dwallsday," answers Gilbert, not answering my question at all.

"And that means?"

"It's a holy day for the children of Pst. Zorah. And since we're basically in her territory...you can guess what that means."

Of course. How could I forget? While the rest of us regard Yulesich, the last day of the week, as a holy day, the children of Pst. Zorah opt for their revelry a day earlier, in the tradition of Ancient Cambirians. It hadn't been so obvious in Cordair or Rutherland. But here, with the Lorelays running rife, it's so different. As if we're in another nation altogether.

In fact, there's an aura of unworldliness surrounding Battein, as though it had been forced to move along time. Yet at the same time, it's striving to preserve the ways of our ancestors. I can't pinpoint precisely why it makes me feel that way—in the customs of its people, in the cracks within the walls, or the thick scent of shadows cloying the air—but I just feel it. It's as though we're in...

Ancient Cambiria.

The atmosphere sings to me at the thought, like it's praising me for putting the puzzle pieces together.

There's only one other place that has ever made me feel this way—makes the blood running in my veins catch fire and thrum and come alive. The scrinaius back in Castle Cordair, buried beneath a network of catacombs. The shrine I'd never visited since that fight with Diomedes.

I shake my head. I'll think about it later. "We can't delay our work for very long," I say. The heaviness of the task before me—just talking to family I barely know—makes me sigh. "Come on then."

"As you wish."

******

A/N: The investigations finally commence! (Like finally, right?) Constantine definitely won't have an easy task ahead for her. After all, there's no telling what weird relatives will do to you when you haven't seen them in 19 years. 

Anyway, please do bear with me if I can't be as active as usual. Uni life is...hard XD

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