The decision, once sanctioned by my father, became the single, driving purpose of the entire Ashworth estate, a silent, focused hum beneath the surface of daily routine. The air, heavy for days with the grim news from the border and the chilling confirmation of the Void Cult's presence, now crackled with a new, focused energy. We were no longer just reacting to a threat discovered by accident; we were preparing to actively hunt it in its own territory.
My first task was to formally assemble the team, the small, sharp scalpel I would take into the den of vipers that was Port Varrick. The choices were few, dictated by necessity, loyalty, and the unique, unconventional nature of the skills required.
I found Garrick in the upper infirmary, stripped to the waist, submitting stoically as Seraphina applied another layer of her potent, Silverwood-infused poultice to the twin poisoned wounds on his arms. The dark, angry veins had receded significantly under her diligent care, but his face was still pale beneath his tan, his movements stiff, carrying the residual ache of corrupted Aether. He was sparring mentally, I could tell, his gaze distant, replaying the forest ambush, analyzing his own performance, his own vulnerability. He looked up as I entered, his eyes immediately sharpening.
"You're not in fighting shape, Captain," I stated quietly, leaning against the doorframe. It was an observation, not an accusation.
"Fighting shape is a luxury," he grunted, the words tight, admitting no weakness. "Readiness is a duty. I can still wield a blade. I'm going with you." It was not a request, but a statement of unshakeable intent.
"I don't doubt your readiness, Captain," I said, looking him straight in the eye. "But I need more than just a knife. Port Varrick is a city of whispers and shadows, not open battlefields. Even when your Master-level Aura is hidden, it makes you a light in the dark. If diplomacy fails and swords are drawn, you would be our last resort, our shield. That shield needs to be perfect and without flaws. I need you to be at your best, not fighting a war on two fronts: against our enemies and against the poison that is still in your veins.
He stared at me, his jaw working silently. I saw the old warrior's pride warring with the pragmatic truth of my words. He knew I was right. He hated it, but he knew. "Two weeks," he said finally, his voice a low growl of promise, a concession hard-won. "Give me two weeks of Seraphina's damned weed-pastes, her constant fussing, and I'll be ready. Not a day less."
"You have one week," I replied firmly. "The trail grows colder with every passing hour. We ride in seven days. Be ready." He gave a single, sharp nod, accepting the command, the challenge.
Next was Rolan. I found him not in the barracks, but in the small, quiet chapel near the northern wall, kneeling before the simple stone altar dedicated to the founding ancestors of the House. He wasn't praying, just… sitting, his sword lying across his knees, his head bowed. The grief for his lost comrades in Patrol Gamma-7 was a palpable presence around him, a heavy shroud he hadn't yet learned how to carry. He looked up as I approached, his eyes red-rimmed but holding a fierce, unwavering light.
"I'm leading a team south," I told him, without preamble, standing beside him in the cool silence. "To hunt the ones responsible for Gamma-7. The mission will take us far from Ashworth lands, into dangerous territory, outside our laws. It will likely be a one-way trip for some of us." I paused, letting the weight of the words settle. "I'm offering you a place on that team. Your loyalty is unquestioned. Your knowledge of the coast, however limited, may prove useful. But your grief… it can be a weapon, or it can be a poison. I need to know which it will be."
He didn't hesitate. He rose slowly to his feet, picking up his sword, his movements precise, almost meditative. He met my gaze, the grief still there, but now tempered, forged into something harder. "They were my brothers, my lord," he said, his voice thick but steady. "They deserve justice. Not vengeance, but justice. My grief won't make me reckless. It will make me careful. It will make me see." He gave a sharp, formal bow. "Just tell me when we ride." His loyalty was a simple, solid, unshakable thing, an anchor in the treacherous waters we were about to enter.
My final, and most crucial, recruitment was Seraphina. I found her in her garden sanctuary, which pulsed with a quiet, vibrant energy, seeming to draw strength from the now waist-high Silverwood tree at its center. Its silvery leaves shimmered, catching and holding the afternoon light, and the air around it felt cleaner, purer. She was kneeling, carefully tending to a patch of rare moonpetal herbs, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"I need you to come with me to Port Varrick," I said, getting straight to the point, stopping at the edge of the garden beds.
She froze, a delicate flower halfway to her collecting basket. Fear, immediate and profound, widened her eyes. She rose slowly, wiping dirt from her hands onto her apron. "My lord? Port Varrick?" Her voice was a small, startled whisper. "They say… they say it is a city of thieves and assassins. A place where even the City Watch is bought and sold. It is no place for…" She trailed off, the words 'a maid', 'a simple healer', left unspoken but hanging heavy in the air.
"I'm not asking a maid to come with me, Sera," I said, my voice gentle but firm, stepping closer into the garden's peaceful aura. "I'm asking an expert. The enemy we face uses poisons, like the one Garrick is fighting right now, poisons that defy conventional healing. Your knowledge of alchemy, of antidotes, of herbs enhanced by this," I gestured to the Silverwood, "is a weapon they won't anticipate. It is a shield our men desperately need."
I paused, letting her absorb that, then pressed further. "And your… senses," I continued, meeting her wide, uncertain gaze. "Your connection to Life Energy. In the ambush, I could feel the Void's presence, but it was a crude, blunt feeling, like sensing heat. You, I suspect, can do more. You felt our approach today, didn't you? Felt the corruption on Garrick? I believe you can sense the 'sickness' in a person's intent, the 'lie' in their Aether, the subtle wrongness of the Void hiding beneath a pleasant facade. In a city of spies, liars, and hidden cultists, you will be my compass. You will be the one who can tell the serpent from the bystander."
I saw the war in her eyes. The ingrained fear of a lifetime spent in service, of knowing her place, warring with the burgeoning confidence in her own unique, powerful abilities. I had given her not just a plant, but a purpose, a new identity, and it was one she was still struggling, bravely, to fit into. She looked towards the Silverwood tree, her hand unconsciously reaching out as if drawing strength from it.
"I will not be a burden?" she asked, her voice still small, hesitant, but laced now with a thread of determination.
"You will be the key to our survival," I replied with absolute certainty. "Without your senses, we walk blind. Without your healing, we die."
A slow, determined resolve hardened her expression. The healer, the protector, won out over the frightened maid. She gave a single, firm nod, her gaze clear and focused. "Then I will prepare my reagents, my lord. I will be ready."
The next week was a whirlwind of focused, clandestine preparation. We gathered untraceable gold coin from a hidden emergency fund my father authorized, stripping it of any markings that could link it back to Ashworth. We procured simple, durable, non-descript traveler's clothes – rough wool tunics, sturdy leather breeches, heavy cloaks – trading our proud grey and black for the anonymous browns and greens of common merchants or minor scholars. Our cover story solidified: a young, slightly eccentric minor lord (me) traveling with his stern, watchful bodyguard (Garrick), his loyal but simple manservant (Rolan), and his personal, highly skilled alchemical specialist (Seraphina), ostensibly searching the infamous markets of Port Varrick for rare coastal herbs and alchemical ingredients not found inland. It was thin, but plausible enough to deflect casual scrutiny.
Seraphina spent every waking hour in her garden and the estate's laboratory, working with a focused intensity I'd never seen in her. She prepared concentrated healing salves, broad-spectrum antidotes based on crushed Silverwood leaves, smelling salts, sleep draughts, and a few other, more volatile, concoctions – flash powders, corrosive acids disguised as tinctures – her 'defensive' alchemy, she called it, her lips set in a grim line.
She also took a small, healthy cutting from the Silverwood tree, carefully planting it in a reinforced pot filled with soil from its base, wrapping it tenderly for the journey. "Its connection to me is growing stronger," she had explained, her hand hovering over the pot, a faint green light connecting them. "I believe… I believe it will offer some measure of protection. Its purity feels… like a shield against the wrongness we felt."
I stood alone on the highest battlement the night before we left, with the cold wind whipping my cloak around me. It felt like the mission was too big to be true. It was like trying to find a ghost in a city of shadows based on a memory from another life. But I didn't feel alone when I thought about my team. Garrick's unbreakable strength, Rolan's fierce loyalty, and Seraphina's unique, quiet power that got stronger every day. Yes, we were a small group that went far from our den. We were a group of wolves, though. And we were going to hunt.