The moonlight filtered through the stained-glass window in Elowyn's chamber, casting faint, fragmented colors across the floor. She sat against the heavy oak door, knees pulled to her chest, her eyes puffy from crying. It had been days since her father's ultimatum, but the sting hadn't dulled.

In her mind, she could already see herself bound for Creathe, her life sealed away in a loveless political arrangement. She might as well have been wrapped up with a bow and delivered like a parcel.

The knock at the door startled her.

"Princess," came the low, familiar voice of Oswald.

Elowyn scrambled to her feet, hastily wiping her cheeks before pressing her ear to the door. "What news?"

"Your father has dispatched diplomats to Creathe," he said through the heavy wood. "It seems he is intent on securing this alliance, with or without your approval."

The words hit her like a blow. Her legs buckled, and she sank to her knees, her forehead resting against the door. "He's not going to stop, is he?" she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Oswald hesitated. "I fear not, my lady."

Desperation clawed at her chest. "Oswald... you don't suppose you can open this door for me, right?"

There was silence, then a heavy sigh. "My lady, I am sorry. I swore an oath to serve you, but I am also bound to obey the king's orders..."

Elowyn's shoulders slumped further.

"Even if I could," Oswald continued, "the hallways are lined with kingsguard — men more loyal to your father than I. If you were to leave and get caught, they would drag you back to your room, and me to the gallows."

Her hands balled into fists against the door. "So, what then?" she whispered, a tremor in her voice. "I wait here, like a bird in a cage, until I'm shipped off?"

Oswald didn't reply immediately. On the other side of the door, he leaned against the cold stone wall, fidgeting with his black hair, his heart heavy. He had watched over her since she was a child, protecting her through skinned knees and courtly scandals alike. She wasn't just his charge; she was like a sister.

But this time, his sword and shield could not protect her. Not from this.

Elowyn whispered to herself, her voice cracking, "Mother... what should I do?"

Hearing this pierced Oswald like a knife to the heart. He winced, picturing her curled up on the other side of the door, small and broken. The same fire that had always burned in her mother now flickered weakly in her. Oswald clenched his jaw.

"I... will take my leave, my lady," he said, his voice taut with restraint.

Elowyn said nothing as he departed, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

...

Oswald tightened the straps of the saddle on his horse, his polished armor hidden beneath a simple hooded cloak. The cold night air bit at his face as he rode out of the palace stables. 

He avoided the main streets, weaving through alleys and lesser-known paths. The city was teeming with patrols, their presence increased due to the ongoing search for the Hunt. Getting caught wouldn't mean imprisonment, but Oswald couldn't risk anyone drawing conclusions about where he, a well-known sworn shield of the princess, was sneaking off to at this late hour.

When he reached the Adventurer's Guild, he paused in the shadows to survey the building. The tall structure was brightly lit, its warm glow spilling into the cobbled street. Boisterous laughter and the clinking of tankards echoed faintly, masking the undercurrent of tension that always lingered among adventurers.

Oswald pulled his hood lower and slipped inside, his steps careful as he navigated the hall. The guild was alive with activity — maps spread across tables, adventurers haggling over contracts, and a few silver-ranked veterans swapping tales near the bar. 

Oswald's presence drew a few curious glances, but most returned to their business quickly enough.

Keeping his head down, Oswald approached a group near the bar. "I'm looking for someone. You know anyone here willing to spill some info?"

The nearest adventurer, a wiry man nursing a pint, snorted and jerked his thumb toward the corner of the room. "Try Red. He's the one who knows everyone's business around here."

Oswald followed the gesture and found a young silver-ranked adventurer lounging in a corner booth. Red, as he was called, had a cocky grin plastered on his face as he flipped a dagger lazily between his fingers.

"You look like you're looking for someone," Red said before Oswald could speak, his sharp eyes betraying his amusement. "How may I be of service?"

"Yes," Oswald replied evenly. "The adventurer Caelann. Do you know where he is?"

Red's grin widened as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I MIGHT know. But my memory's... a bit fuzzy." He tapped his temple dramatically.

Oswald sighed, pulling a small pouch of coins from beneath his cloak and placing it on the table.

Red weighed the pouch in his hand, his smirk growing. "Caelann's off on some small-time quest. Something about pests bothering a farm."

"And the location?" Oswald pressed.

Red clicked his tongue, setting the pouch aside. "Ah, now that's where my memory gets tricky." He leaned back, his grin turning sly. "The fog hasn't quite lifted yet."

Oswald's jaw tightened, but he reached into his cloak again, producing a slightly larger pouch. He placed it on the table, and Red's hand darted out to claim it before the coins even hit the surface.

"Out in Stonebridge," Red said smoothly, slipping the pouch into his jacket. "Near Elmsgrove. If you can slip past the checkpoints, you might just catch him."

Oswald nodded curtly, rising to leave.

"Pleasure doing business," Red called after him with a mock salute.

As Oswald exited the guild, a group of adventurers at a nearby table turned their attention to Red. One of them, a hulking strongman with a heavy axe slung across his back, stomped over to the silver-rank.

"Who was that?" the strongman growled, his voice low and threatening.

Red didn't even look up from the pouch of coins he was inspecting. "That? Can't seem to recall—"

"Don't play games with me." The table creaked as the strongman leaned forward, fists planted firmly on the wood.

Red finally glanced up, smirking as he twirled his dagger lazily between his fingers. "Relax, big guy. Just someone asking about Caelann. Paid handsomely for the info, too. Generous sort. Not like you lot."

The strongman's jaw tightened. "And you just gave it up?"

Red shrugged, jingling the pouch. "Coins talk. And in this case? They practically shouted."

Another adventurer, a wiry rogue, leaned in with a sly grin. "What did he want with Caelann?"

"Nothing nefarious, I'm sure," Red replied with a smirk, though his tone sounded like someone who'd sell out their grandmother for a copper.

The strongman slammed a meaty fist on the table, sending a few of Red's hard-earned coins bouncing onto the floor. He then grabbed Red by the collar, making it absolutely clear that he better think carefully about the next words that come out of his mouth. "Where did you send him?!"

Red held up his hands, his smirk slipping into a nervous grin. "Stonebridge! Near Elmsgrove! That's all I know! Promise! Would I lie to you?"

The strongman's glare didn't waver as he releases Red, and the rogue snorted. "You'd lie to a priest during confession if there was coin in it."

"Hey," Red said, feigning offense. "That only happened once — and I returned half the offering. Honest mistake."

The adventurers exchanged grim looks. 

"Could be one of the huntsmen," a spearman in the group muttered.

"If it is, we need to get to Caelann before he does," the strongman replied, already standing.

"And a Huntsman in chains would fetch a nice reward," the rogue added, his lips curling into a grin.

Without another word, the group grabbed their gear and marched out of the guild.

Red watching them leave, muttered under his breath, "You're welcome, by the way. Guess I'll just sit here alone with my very earned coins. Real heroes, all of you."

...

The last of the rats scurried into the woods, chased off by Caelann's half-hearted swipes and the clanging of an old iron bucket he'd found lying around the barn. 

The pest problem wasn't exactly solved in the grand sense — some of them would probably find their way back eventually — but for now, the farmer would be able to sleep without the sound of tiny claws scuttling across the floorboards.

Caelann sheathed his pristine sword, still untouched by rat blood, and leaned against the barn door. The moon hung high in the night sky, its silver light spilling over the fields and painting everything in a soft, tranquil glow. The air was crisp and quiet, save for the occasional chirp of a cricket or the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.

It wasn't exciting, but it was... nice.

Caelann found himself smiling, even if only slightly. It had been too long since he'd had a moment like this. A job that didn't involve disarming traps, escaping sorceresses, or watching his back for the occasional monster. 

Just a simple, straightforward task, where the only danger was a particularly bold rat.

The farmer appeared from the house, a lantern in hand, and gave a wide grin as he approached. "Well, that's the quietest it's been around here in weeks! You've done us a real service, lad."

"Happy to help," Caelann replied, offering a polite nod. "The barn's all clear for now. Might want to plug a few of the holes in the walls, though, just in case they decide to come back."

"Oh, we'll take care of that in the morning," the farmer said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small pouch of coins. "Here, for your trouble. I know it's not much, but it's honest."

Caelann hesitated for a moment before accepting the pouch with a gracious nod. "Much appreciated. And, for what it's worth, I really do hope the rats don't return."

The farmer laughed, his voice carrying softly through the night. "So do I! But if they do, we'll know who to call."

With that, the farmer returned to his house, and Caelann turned toward the road. He walked at a leisurely pace, letting the cool air and the peaceful surroundings wash over him. The capital was still a good distance away, but he wasn't in any particular rush.

The quiet gave him time to think, though he wasn't entirely sure if that was a blessing or a curse. His thoughts wandered to the Hunt, the princess, and everything else that had happened recently. But here, under the stars, it all felt a little farther away. A little less pressing.

As he neared the main road, Caelann glanced back at the farm, now silent and still under the moonlight. He smirked to himself.

"Well, I guess even heroes need a slow night once in a while," he muttered.

After a few minutes of walking, Caelann was getting pretty tired, so he figured it was time to call it a night. 

He decided to head back to his shack in Elmsgrove rather than the infirmary in the capital. Sure, the staff there would be annoyed that he broke curfew and skipped his nightly dose of medicine, but at least he was still in one piece. He'd deal with their scolding in the morning.

Whistling softly, Caelann strolled along the path toward the main road. 

After a moment, he spotted a well-known shortcut to Elmsgrove. It was bumpier than the main road, but it would get him to his bed faster. With a shrug, he veered onto the narrow path.

...

Mere minutes after Caelann veered off the main road and into the shortcut, Oswald reached the farm Caelann had just left, his hood shadowing his face as he dismounted his horse and tied it to a tree. 

Approaching the farmhouse, he rapped softly on the door. After a long pause, the farmer opened it a crack, his face weary but alert.

"Good evening," Oswald said politely, bowing his head slightly. "Apologies for the disturbance. I'm searching for an adventurer... a young man. Might you have hired someone recently?"

The farmer's eyes darted to the glint of armor beneath Oswald's cloak and the sword at his hip. 

He tightened his grip on the door and shook his head firmly. "No, sir. We've not hired anyone. Please, my family's asleep, and we'd like to be left alone."

Oswald studied the farmer's trembling hand and sighed. "I understand. My apologies. I won't trouble you further." 

He stepped back, inclining his head in apology before turning to leave.

He had just untied his horse and was about to mount when a voice called out from the shadows.

"Lovely evening, isn't it?"

Oswald turned slowly to see four figures emerge from the tree line, silhouetted against the moonlight. A strongman with a broad axe slung over his shoulder stepped forward, flanked by a wiry rogue spinning twin daggers in his hands, a mage clutching a glowing spellbook, and a spearman tapping his weapon against the ground.

"Yes," Oswald replied evenly, his hand drifting instinctively to the hilt of his sword. "I hope you fine gentlemen enjoy it."

"Oh, we'll enjoy it, alright," the rogue said with a smirk, his daggers catching the light.

Oswald frowned, his grip tightening. "I'm not looking for trouble."

The strongman, Boric, growled, hefting his axe. "You're the one looking for Caelann, aren't you?"

Oswald's eyes narrowed. "And if I am?"

"Then you're one of the Hunt," Boric snapped, stepping forward. "And I'm not letting you lay a hand on him."

Before Oswald could respond, the rogue darted forward with surprising speed, slashing at him. Oswald sidestepped, drawing his blade in one fluid motion. He parried the rogue's second strike, his sword flashing in the moonlight.

"So, you're protecting him," Oswald said, deflecting another blow. "I commend your loyalty, but you've made a mistake."

The spearman lunged, forcing Oswald to leap back. 

The mage began chanting, his spellbook glowing brighter. A bolt of flame streaked toward Oswald, who ducked just in time, the heat singeing the edge of his cloak.

"Please listen to me, or I'll be forced to retaliate," Oswald warned, his voice calm but edged with steel.

Boric swung his axe in a wide arc, aiming to cleave Oswald in two. Oswald met the blow with his blade, the clash of steel reverberating through the clearing. With a quick twist, he disarmed Boric, sending the axe flying into the grass.

"I'm not with the Hunt," Oswald admitted, dodging a follow-up strike from the rogue, "We have no reason to fight."

He swept his leg out, tripping the rogue and sending him sprawling. The spearman lunged again, but Oswald sidestepped and caught the spear's shaft, twisting it out of the adventurer's grip. A sharp kick to the chest sent the spearman tumbling backward.

The mage hesitated, his spellbook trembling in his hands. 

"Stand down," Oswald commanded, his sword pointed directly at the mage's heart.

Boric, clutching his bruised arm, glared at him. "If you're not with the Hunt, then who are you? Why are you after Caelann?"

Oswald sheathed his sword and threw back his hood, revealing the royal crest etched into his armor. "I am Oswald, sworn shield to Princess Elowyn. I'm not here to harm Caelann — I need his help."

The adventurers exchanged uneasy glances. Boric's brow furrowed. "Elowyn? The king's daughter?"

"Yes," Oswald replied. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small medallion bearing the royal insignia. "The princess is... in danger. I've come to Caelann because he's the only one I trust to help her."

The rogue groaned from the ground, rubbing his head. "Well, that's embarrassing."

Boric sighed, extending a hand to Oswald. "You could've led with that."

Oswald smirked, clasping Boric's hand and helping him to his feet. "Dialogue has never been my strongest point."

The mage snorted, closing his spellbook. "Guess we owe you an apology, Sir Oswald."

"Apology accepted," Oswald said, mounting his horse. He paused, adjusting his cloak. "But you can make it up to me by answering a question."

The rogue, still dusting himself off, crossed his arms. "Depends on the question."

Oswald leaned slightly forward in his saddle. "If Caelann's not at the farm, where would he go next?"

Boric scratched his beard, considering. "If he's wrapped up with a job, he's probably headed back to the Adventurer's Guild."

Oswald frowned. "I just came from there. He wasn't in."

"That's normal for him," the rogue piped up. "Caelann's a bit of a night owl, but he's also meticulous about logging completed quests. Chances are he'll go straight to the taskmaster to hand in his parchments before heading anywhere else."

"Yeah," Boric added, nodding. "Especially if he's gunning for a promotion to Silver. Those grades won't mark themselves."

Oswald tilted his head. "You're saying he'd go back to the capital?"

The mage gave a casual shrug. "Most likely. Unless he's got some errand to run first, but knowing Caelann, he's a stickler for protocol. He'll prioritize the taskmaster before anything else."

Oswald sighed, already turning his horse toward the direction of the capital city. Before he moved, though, he paused and turned back to the group. "Listen, I was never here. Understood? I'm on an operation that requires complete secrecy. Nobody can know I'm looking for Caelann—or even that I passed through this way."

Boric raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, we're adventurers, not gossips."

The rogue grinned slyly. "Our lips are sealed—provided you don't come knocking us out again."

The mage rolled his eyes. "Relax, you lot. We get it. You're on some royal errand or whatever."

Oswald's piercing gaze lingered for a moment, ensuring they understood the gravity of his request. "Good. For your sake, and Caelann's, keep it that way."

Boric stepped forward, his expression softening. "Hey. If you're trying to help Caelann—or protect the princess—you're not alone. He's a good guy, and so are you, it seems. If you need backup..."

"I appreciate the offer," Oswald said with a small, genuine smile. "But this is something I have to handle myself."

He gave them a short nod and spurred his horse into motion, galloping back toward the capital. The adventurers watched him disappear into the night, their earlier hostility replaced with reluctant admiration.

"Think he'll find him in time?" the rogue asked.

Boric grinned faintly, retrieving his axe from the grass. "If anyone can keep up with Caelann's nonsense, it's that guy. He was stupid fast earlier."

The group chuckled softly before dispersing, their earlier tension replaced with relief.

****

The faint flicker of torches illuminated the dungeon's grim walls, the air heavy with the stench of mildew and death. Garrett's lifeless body lay crumpled in the cell, a dark pool beneath him where his blood had soaked into the stone floor. The "guard" responsible had vanished without a trace, leaving behind only chaos.

Captain Caleb crouched by the body, his expression grim as he inspected the deep wound. "Precise. Professional. This wasn't just any thug," he muttered to himself. Behind him, several guards stood uneasily, the weight of their failure etched on their faces.

One of them stepped forward hesitantly. "Captain, I swear, I didn't know. He came early for the shift, said he was relieving me. Looked official, had the armor and everything."

Caleb straightened, his piercing gaze pinning the guard in place. "And you didn't think to question it?"

"I—" The guard faltered, wringing his hands. "He had the uniform, sir. I thought—"

"You thought wrong," Caleb snapped, his voice sharp. He turned back to the corpse, frustration bubbling beneath his calm exterior. "The king will want answers for this. And what do I tell him? That my men can't tell the difference between their own and a wolf in sheep's clothing?"

Before the guard could stammer another excuse, another voice interrupted.

"Captain Caleb, sir." A younger guard approached with a civilian in tow — a young man with neatly combed dark hair and the confident bearing of someone accustomed to privilege. "Apologies, sir, but this is—"

Caleb rose sharply, cutting him off. "I thought I made myself clear. No civilians at the crime scene!"

"I understand your frustration, Captain," the young man interjected smoothly before the guard could respond. 

He stepped forward, offering a polite bow. "Giovanni, son of Lord Edmund Gladwyn. I come with a formal request."

Caleb's eyes narrowed as Giovanni extended a folded parchment, its wax seal bearing the unmistakable crest of House Gladwyn. He broke the seal and skimmed the contents, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"A scholar?" Caleb asked, his tone skeptical.

"Yes, Captain. I'm working on a thesis for the Academy." Giovanni's words were articulate, polished, but they carried a casual air of confidence that set Caleb's teeth on edge. "I believe this investigation would provide invaluable insights for my research."

Caleb lowered the parchment, scrutinizing the young man. "You understand the risk? This isn't an academic exercise, son. It's real. Dangerous. And my patience for interruptions is thin."

Giovanni dipped his head humbly. "I assure you, Captain, I will stay out of your way and observe. My presence will be as unobtrusive as a shadow."

Caleb huffed, glancing back at the parchment. Lord Edmund's signature and seal left him little choice. "Very well. But you do not interfere, and if you step out of line, your father's name won't protect you."

"Understood," Giovanni said with a deferential nod. But as he stepped closer to the cell, a flicker of something sharp and calculating crossed his otherwise composed expression.

Garrett's body, the shattered lock on the cell door, the faint footprints leading to and from the crime scene — all these details seemed to fascinate him. But Giovanni's face betrayed none of the thoughts swirling behind his cool demeanor.

"I see the assassin was methodical," Giovanni remarked, crouching slightly to examine the bloodstains. "A single stab wound, no signs of struggle. Precise."

Caleb gave a curt nod. "Too precise. This wasn't some desperate criminal. This was an expert."

Giovanni stood, brushing his hands as though wiping away dust. "And yet, no evidence left behind. The assassin knew the guard schedules, had a disguise prepared, and chose a moment when no one would question him. Whoever did this must have access to detailed information."

Caleb raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sharpness of Giovanni's observations. "You seem well-versed in the ways of criminals, my lord."

Giovanni offered a disarming smile. "Purely theoretical knowledge, Captain. My thesis is on 'The Psychology of Organized Crime and its Impacts on Kingdom Stability.' This case is a rare opportunity to study such matters firsthand."

Caleb grunted but said nothing, turning back to the cell. Giovanni, however, lingered, his eyes flicking to a scrap of parchment half-hidden beneath Garrett's body. 

Without hesitation, he crouched down again, pretending to adjust his boots while deftly pocketing the fragment.

Standing, he gestured toward the cell door. "A fascinating puzzle, Captain. With your permission, I'll observe as you continue your investigation."

Caleb gave him a skeptical glance but nodded. "Fine. Just stay out of the way."

As the guards resumed their work, Giovanni stepped back into the shadows, his calm mask slipping for a brief moment as he palmed the parchment in his hand. His fingers felt the faint grooves of written words — something Garrett must have been trying to protect.

His thoughts churned, but his face remained impassive. The situation was delicate, and any slip-up could unravel everything. 

For now, he would play the role of the curious scholar. If any evidence pointed to Johann — or worse, himself — it would have to disappear before the guards found it.