The great hall of House Aurel was a gallery of frozen time arched ceilings, stained glass depictions of ancient kings, and tapestries woven with the red-gold crest of a rising phoenix. It was here that Flynn and Elior arrived, cloaked and unannounced, under the guise of diplomacy.
But diplomacy was not why they'd come.
"This feels... off," Elior murmured as they were escorted through the candlelit corridors. "Too quiet for a house of this stature."
Flynn didn't answer. His violet eyes scanned every corner, every guard's uniform, every servant's glance.
Lord Hadrian Aurel greeted them in the inner solar. He was young barely in his thirties with neatly combed copper hair and a smile too calm for the times. At his side stood his sister, Lady Mireya Aurel, a woman with calculating eyes and fingers stained with ink.
"Your Grace," Hadrian said smoothly, bowing his head to Flynn. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
Flynn offered a neutral smile. "Just a courtesy call, Lord Aurel. We've heard much of your stewardship over the southern borders. It seemed only fair to see it for ourselves."
Mireya's lips curled. "Winter comes early with royal eyes watching."
Elior interjected gently, "And yet you've kept the fires burning well."
Tea was served. Conversation flowed. But beneath the polished exchange, tension simmered.
And then, when the servants were dismissed and only the four remained, Flynn placed a small strip of scorched cloth on the table marked with the same red-gold sigil now etched on the Ember Hand documents they'd intercepted weeks before.
Hadrian's smile didn't falter. "A forgery?"
Mireya reached for the cloth. She turned it in her fingers. "This came from the ruins, didn't it?"
Flynn nodded. "Yes. And beneath it, a sealed vault. With records. Names. Schedules. Routes."
There was a pause. Mireya set the cloth down.
"…You've already opened it."
"We have," Flynn said. "Not all of it made sense. But enough did."
Silence. Then Hadrian spoke, no longer pretending.
"It wasn't meant to be like this," he said quietly. "The Ember Hand was supposed to be a lever. A way to expose the rotting roots in the court. Not… not blood on the snow."
Mireya's gaze hardened. "Our father warned the council. No one listened. So we planted fires where we had to. To draw out the shadows."
Flynn stood. "Then name them. The ones behind the betrayal. The ones working with the Ember Hand now."
But Mireya only shook her head. "You're asking us to set the forest ablaze to catch a few wolves. Even you won't survive the smoke, Your Grace."
Flynn's jaw clenched. "You still serve the crown. And I won't let Winterbell burn again."
Hadrian looked down, then handed over a sealed scroll.
"Take this. It names one of the true architects. A noble long thought dead. But you'll find him aliveand dangerous."
Flynn took it.
Mireya added, "Be careful, Prince. There are truths even kings fear."
Back in the carriage, Elior watched Flynn unravel the scroll.
The name written in old ink chilled the blood in Flynn's veins.
Lord Varian Thorne.
A name from Caelan's time.
A name buried in ash.
A name who once stood beside Khalid on the battlefield.