—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
The district gates groaned open at her approach—ten-foot metal doors operated by paired Luminary shards, each attuned to the other. The Council District's stone walls loomed over her as she passed through.
Warm light washed over her as the fresh scent of luxurious air tickled her senses. The mist seemed to thin to nothing beyond the threshold.
"Captain!"
Guards struck fists to their chests and bowed slightly. Lysara answered the salute with a curt nod.
"Keep it steady, lads."
The Council District rose above the central streets, furthest from the crowded commons below. Within the walls lay a more prestigious district. Gardens of manicured grass and flowers dotted the lanes; trees lined the main road, guiding the eye toward the castle.
Perfume and pastry sweetened the air; the luxury quarter thrived with private halls—the House of Delight, the Sanctum, the Chamberhall—where the wealthy dined and sinned in comfort. It was a heavy contrast to the conditions of the Commons District.
By rank, Lysara should have lived here, yet she refused. The place reeked of authority and vanity—councillors playing at kings with borrowed power.
She preferred the bustle of the Central District, loud, imperfect, honest.
The streets were filled with the chaos of rush hour, apprentices hurrying past with stacks of parchment and tomes. The lifeblood of bureaucracy in motion.
Every street hummed with dense Luminary essence; shards lined the streets—etched into paving and set into walls, lighting the district even through the night.
Side streets slipped past as people scrambled to their destinations. A figure hidden in one narrow alley caught her eye—silver hair, armour reflecting more light than it should beneath a hooded cape.
Eyes of blue-silver met hers; the stranger tipped their hood a fraction.
Lysara replied with the slightest shake of her head.
Not now.
She continued on.
…
After passing through the castle's outer walls, Lysara moved through its surrounding gardens and into the inner keep. After climbing the stairs inside, she arrived on the first floor—a corridor lined with statues and painted history.
Metal on stone echoed sharply through the corridor as she walked—a path she had trodden many times before.
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
"Mayor Crowle."
A man spoke up.
"With all due respect—given the recent events plaguing our town, our men are stretched thin. Guild cohorts can't be relied upon; they're hired blades at best. We should appeal directly to our Bannerlord, Lord Alric, for reinforcement."
A chair creaked from a shift of weight.
"Councillor Auston, I am well aware of what has been occurring around my town. I have good connections with our Lord, Alric, but those cannot be strained. We cannot establish weakness by showing our tails at the first sign of trouble."
"Mayor Crowle, we—"
The doors barged open. Metal shook. Boots stomped. Stationed guards saluted their true superior as she made her way inside, a Blademaster's aura trailing behind her.
All the present council members sat in abrupt silence, stilled by the ring of metal and the unseen pressure of her aura.
Seven council members sat around a table, including the Mayor.
The council table stretched long and immaculate, its surface hand-carved with patient care—perhaps a gift from the capital. Three ornate chairs lined each side, two more at either end. Rounded windows caught the morning light on essence-stained glass, scattering faint rainbows across the marble floor.
The marble floor gleamed throughout the chamber under the soft hum of embedded Luminary shards, their light clean and even. Candles of condensed Luminary blossoms filled the chamber with a sweet, almost intoxicating scent.
Lysara stopped her march, coming to the left side of the mayor.
"Mayor Crowle."
A fist hit her chest, a slight bow followed, barely visible. Crowle nodded at her, acknowledging her arrival.
The chair gave a soft rustle as she sat. Head high, posture firm, one leg crossed over the other—a woman's strength wrapped in quiet confidence.
Everyone in the room felt it.
Her gaze flicked to the Mayor, then across to Councillor Auston, sitting opposite to her left.
"Councillor Auston—tell me, are you doubting your town's own guard… or me?" she challenged his previous comments.
"N-No! I was merely explaining the situation, Captain." his voice cracked, almost like he did not plan for the captain to show up.
"As Councillor of trade, it is my utmost responsibility to ensure it flows to and from Brisden. It's the town's lifeline."
Hesitant, he looked around, glancing back at Lysara as if seeking permission to continue.
"These incidents have caused complications and rumours to spread. I fear the merchants will soon avoid our routes and cause significant loss in trade income."
He opened his palm, directing her to the documents in front of him.
"Twenty percent within the year, sixty the next if this continues."
He grasped his hands, slight sweat accumulating.
He glanced toward the other councillors.
Due to having to face their own share of issues in their respective areas, they joined in with slight nods.
A cough cut through the silence. The man seated beside the woman to Lysara's left cleared his throat, making himself known.
"Councillor Jofferon?" Lysara's head tilted slightly, minimal effort.
"Captain Lysara, Councillor Auston's worries are not without their significance. It has been only a short while, but the crops on the town's outskirts have already been affected."
Jofferon took several sheets of parchment from a tome.
"My agriculturists and their apprentices confirmed with the farmhands—the creeping blue mist is the only culprit that fits. It is the only new variable in this season's crop growth."
Glances moved through the council, Lysara glanced back at Crowle.
"I am neither a Councillor of Trade nor a Cropmaster. I protect Brisden's people and the border. Mayor, I have my report ready, if you wish to hear it."
Crowle glanced at her and gave her a nod.
"Tree Grave is stirring again. The essence-corrupted beast, Gaunturala, has grown active—emboldened even, expanding its territory. My duty officers reported this; their words carry weight."
The councillors shook with a chill left by the horror that came with the mentioning of the mythical Gaunturala. Without hesitation she carried on.
"Yes. It seems like the Blue Mist Forest has been leaking from down south, travelling up to the town's outskirts. Like you say, some of it has gotten close to the town, testing the walls. Guards saw it shift sporadically as if moving with a will of its own. But, this is not due to our own competence. That is mother nature reclaiming what is hers."
Murmurs could be heard, questioning if this mist was something living rather than just nature.
"The fangs of the Bog Marshes have also made their way up from the south, following the river to the east of town. Marsh Drakes haven't brought us issues yet, but still may."
She looked at the Councillors, then to the Mayor.
"From this point on, the Freeblade Guild will receive new contracts under council authority, specifically recruiting Cohorts or individual Freeblades with affinity of wind, even fire if we are desperate, to help the containment of the blue mist. The town's outskirts guard patrol will monitor the areas close to the eastern river for any dangerous creatures brave enough to step into our territory."
The Councillors had dropped their shoulders slightly, their weight momentarily shared with their town's Captain.
She sighed.
"We should send word to Heliandor, the Radiant City. Dawn's capital must be informed. With the right words, they'll dispatch two or three of the Twelve Radiant Knights of the Round Table—though never their Knights of Dawn."
Crowle frowned at the mention of Heliandor, especially about the Radiant Knights.
"This solves our issues of threats whilst bypassing any trouble with our Bannerlord."
Sighs could be heard throughout the Council Chamber, other than Crowle who seemed to be uptight about the situation.
Only until his thoughts ran dry did he also let out a sigh.
"I acknowledge your report and accept your plan, Lysara. It irritates me to trouble the Capital, but we're out of choices."
Crowle turned and nodded at the man sitting opposite Lysara, the man who was the Mayor's Master of Messages.
"Mayor, I will commission the Guild for them to send the message via Luminary transfer, the Guild in the Capital shall pass it on for us."
With nods of agreement, Crowle turned to Lysara.
"Now… tell me about these so-called demons."
"About that…"
The room went cold again with the mentioning of a Demon.
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
"Ridiculous!" Crowle's voice echoed through the chamber.
"Demons, in such a small, quiet area of the Lands of Dawn? Utter nonsense."
He couldn't help scoffing at these ridiculous rumours.
"B-but Mayor… all these incidents, even the testimony from the herb girl—" Councillor Auston piped up but was immediately shut down.
"Irrelevant. Alara, the girl you are mentioning. We have already come to a conclusion, she was most likely delirious, the sudden sight must have overwhelmed her and caused her to see what she wanted to see."
Crowle refuted his comment as his fists clenched, leather crackling under strain.
Lysara glanced at Crowle for a moment.
"A hermit! A scoundrel! Even a Dominion Scout! There's no demon, but there is someone skulking about in my land!"
All Councillors went silent.
"Lysara."
The mayor turned his gaze toward her. She returned the glare with a sidelong look.
The mayor's tone dropped. He leaned forward.
"You have three days, Captain. Find the culprit. End this nonsense."
"Understood."
She lifted herself from the chair; a creak of wood and stone signalled her retirement from the council.
"Mayor."
She gave the usual salute and proceeded to leave just as she entered.
Crowle stared on as she left, annoyance boiling from some unseen grievance.
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
"Selene~!"
"Selene!"
"Do it again!"
The town's orphanage was lively, filled with giggles and adorable children. A woman knelt on the wooden floor, surrounded by them.
"Resonant Note."
A beautiful note arose from the woman's throat, Vitalis reinforcing and curling the Essence as it left, shaping it into a calming, tingling hum.
Her hum rolled low, then high, soft as heat through the morning mist. Every breath carried warmth into the cold room, the sound more heartbeat than tune.
The children bounced and giggled as the hum softly vibrated in their ears and through their small bodies, finally calming them, leaving only gentle warmth behind.
The few small Luminary lanterns that hung lonely reacted, shimmering faintly, glass trembled weakly, the warm light brightening as if saturated by her tone.
Giggles could be heard echoing through the halls.
"Hehe~ Selene again!" one girl bounced, her ponytail swinging like the tail of a puppy.
"It tickles!"
The other children joined her, surrounding her further.
"A-ah, children—you'll give me a Vitalis burn at this rate." she laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
This much is fine…
"I'm sorry, Selene, with Mother Tessa gone, you have to watch these little demons."
An older girl came walking into the room, feeling guilty for the Blonde healer.
"It's fine, Sai. Truly. I'm happy to help wherever I can."
The laughter hadn't yet faded when the front doors thundered open.
The front entrance erupted with frantic footsteps. Selene reached for her Gear Shard—then froze as Mother Tessa stormed around the corner.
Breathing hard, she looked at Selene — her eyes stricken, fear consuming her.
"...children." Mother Tessa strained the hard truth out of her throat.
"Mother Tessa, what happened—"
"The children… they've disappeared!"
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
Resonant Note — School of Resonance
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Description:
A melodic hum channelled through Vitalis to calm and stabilise surrounding Essence. The sound carries warmth that soothes living beings, often used to settle distress or collective fear.
Essence Principle:
Harmony begets balance. When a caster's Vitalis vibrates in rhythm with ambient Essence, the flow aligns, diffusing agitation and restoring equilibrium.
Practitioner's Note:
Resonance mirrors the heart that wields it. A wavering spirit yields a fractured tone; clarity of intent carries peace farther than volume ever will.
Maxim:
"One's voice carries not only power, but joy."