NOVPUBTwilight draped itself across Valemir like a weary traveler's cloak, the last amber rays of sunset painting the cobblestone streets in hues of molten gold and deepening shadow. The weathered sign of the Moongate Inn creaked gently in the evening breeze, its faded lunar emblem illuminated by flickering lantern light that spilled from windows clouded with age and wood smoke.
David paused in the narrow alleyway across from the inn, momentarily allowing himself to savor the relative stillness. The capital's perpetual hum of activity had diminished to a distant murmur as merchants closed their stalls and taverns prepared for the night's business. This temporary lull, the quiet breath between day's responsibilities and evening's indulgences, provided a rare moment of contemplation.
Twelve hours. Elara's ultimatum echoed in his mind, each passing second bearing the weight of consequence.
The dimensional fractures might have healed, sealing the rifts in his physical form, but a different kind of pressure had taken their place, the interlocking needs and expectations of those who now relied on him. Elara, fierce and formidable yet vulnerable in ways few ever witnessed. Salomonis, brilliant and eccentric, now detained within imperial walls. Sylindra, royalty reduced to broken fragility, her very existence a political powder keg. Each thread connected to him, forming a tapestry of responsibility he had never truly sought.
"Master," Luna's voice materialized beside him, her golden eyes gleaming like twin moons in the gathering darkness. "The perimeter is secure. No observers within three blocks."
David nodded, grateful for her efficiency. "And Vespera?"
"Maintaining surveillance from the rooftops. She's established a sensory web that would detect even shielded magical presences." Luna's nostrils flared slightly as she scented the evening air, an unconscious gesture that betrayed her predatory nature. "Nothing threatens us here. Not yet."
With practiced ease, they crossed the narrow street, footsteps whisper-soft against worn cobblestones. The inn's entrance beckoned, its weathered door opening without protest as they stepped into the familiar warmth of the common room. The innkeeper acknowledged David with a discreet nod—the understated recognition of a business arrangement that transcended normal guest relations. Gold had secured not just accommodations but discretion, the universal currency of Valemir's professional class.
"The attendants remain with your elf," the innkeeper murmured as David passed, her voice pitched for his ears alone. "No disturbances, as you requested."
David nodded his appreciation for her discretion as he ascended the creaking stairs, each step measured and deliberate, Luna a silent shadow at his heel. The narrow hallway stretched before them, illuminated by wall sconces whose flames danced in invisible drafts, casting restless shadows across faded floral wallpaper.
Their room lay at the corridor's end, the most defensible position, with windows overlooking both street and courtyard, offering multiple escape routes should circumstances demand hasty departure. Strategic considerations had become second nature, woven into every decision regardless of context.
David hesitated before the adjacent door, hand raised to knock but momentarily suspended in indecision. Princess Sylindra Elanthrial lay within, though none besides himself knew her true identity. To the others, she remained simply "the elf", a purchased slave, a curiosity, perhaps a symbol of imperial cruelty toward her kind, but nothing more.
The weight of that secret pressed against him now, uncomfortable yet necessary. Revealing her royal lineage would transform her from person to political weapon, a fate she had already suffered enough to deserve avoiding.
His knuckles rapped softly against aged wood, the sound barely audible yet sufficient. When no response came, he eased the door open, hinges protesting with a whispered groan. The room beyond lay in semi-darkness, curtains drawn against the evening, a single candle providing minimal illumination.
Princess Sylindra lay motionless against pillows that had been carefully arranged to accommodate her injuries. In the gentle candlelight, her features held an ethereal quality, the characteristic elven beauty somehow preserved despite months of systematic torture and deprivation. Her eyes, however, revealed the true cost. Those violet orbs, unnaturally bright even in shadow, held the hollow distance of one who had witnessed horrors beyond articulation.
Those same eyes flickered with recognition as David entered, the only movement her broken body seemed capable of producing. A young woman, one of the temporary slaves Elara had acquired—rose silently from a chair in the corner, bowing slightly before moving toward the door.
"She took some broth earlier," the slave-attendant whispered as she passed. "First food she's managed to keep down in days."
David nodded his acknowledgment as the woman slipped into the hallway, leaving him alone with the princess and Luna. Approaching the bedside with measured steps, he noted subtle changes since he left her, slightly improved color beneath the ashen pallor, marginally steadier breathing, eyes fractionally clearer.
"How are you feeling?" David asked, his voice gentle yet direct.
Sylindra's lips remained still, but her fingers, thin and frail against the blanket, twitched in a pattern David instantly recognised as ancient elven sign language. Her movements were painfully limited, yet formed recognisable phrases: Still here. Moving soon?
Solomon's legacy stirred within him, providing immediate comprehension of signals he had never formally studied. The knowledge flowed effortlessly, another unexpected gift from the enigmatic empress who had seen something in him worth preserving.
"I never expected Solomon's legacy to prove useful in quite this way," David murmured, surprised by this practical application of inherited knowledge.
He leaned closer, responding to the princess's question. "Yes, we're relocating to more secure accommodations," he explained, seating himself carefully on the room's single chair. "Someplace with better facilities for your recovery."
David smiled softly, respecting her awareness despite her weakened state. He replied both aloud and with subtle hand gestures of his own, instinctively adapting to her preferred communication method.
The princess's fingers trembled as they formed another phrase: Recovery. Impossible concept.
In that moment, David felt something stir within him, a response not from his conscious mind but from deeper within his essence. The Yggdrasil Inheritance, dormant since his dimensional stabilization, pulsed once with unmistakable recognition.
Solomon's final gift had responded to Sylindra's presence.
The elves were the original guardians of Yggdrasil, knowledge whispered through his mind, fragments of the novel blending with Solomon's transferred wisdom. Before corruption by higher beings, before losing the World Tree to darkness, they were its chosen protectors. Their bloodlines still carry that ancient connection, weakened but unbroken.
David's perception shifted subtly, allowing him to see beyond physical damage to the fundamental pattern of Sylindra's being. The princess's essence, her soul-pattern, remained structurally intact despite her body's devastation. The elven connection to natural forces, particularly those governed by Yggdrasil's primal energies, had preserved her core self even as her physical form suffered.
I could give it to her, the thought formed unbidden. The Inheritance was meant for elven stewardship originally. In her hands, it might restore what was lost, not just to her, but to her entire people.
Yet reality asserted itself immediately. In her current condition, Sylindra could no more channel Yggdrasil's power than a shattered vessel could hold water. The energies would overwhelm her, destroying what remained of her fragile existence. She needed healing first, complete restoration beyond what conventional methods could provide.
And for that, David needed his own abilities restored. The dimensional stabilization had reset his cultivated powers to baseline, leaving him fundamentally stronger than an ordinary human but stripped of his specialized techniques. To help her, to help any of them, he needed to accelerate his recovery, activate his semi-dormant system, and rebuild his foundation from first principles.
His divine blood, the ancestral power he had inherited through Aurumaris, the Gilded Core, held potential for healing beyond mortal understanding. Combined with proper cultivation techniques, it might eventually provide what Sylindra needed.
"Recovery is always possible," David finally answered, his voice gentle yet carrying absolute conviction. "Different, perhaps, from what was before. But possible nonetheless."
Sylindra's violet eyes studied him with ancient wisdom that transcended her physical vulnerability. "You believe that," she observed, sounding genuinely surprised. "After all you've witnessed in this world, you still maintain such... faith."
David felt his hand drift unconsciously toward his chest, fingers brushing the outline of a necklace hidden beneath his clothing. The pendant, a gift from his aunt, Lady La Muerte Le Gor, during one of their rare formal encounters, pressed against his skin with peculiar warmth, as if responding to his thoughts.
He recalled the ceremonial stiffness of that meeting when he'd requested Angelica as his personal servant. His aunt's piercing gaze had studied him with an intensity that went beyond mere familial assessment, suggesting deeper affections that likely belonged to the original David rather than the consciousness that now inhabited his body. She had presented the pendant with words carefully measured for public consumption, yet her fingers had lingered against his palm during the transfer, a momentary intimacy at odds with the formal setting.
Should I trust her with the truth? The question formed and dissolved, unanswered. Not yet. Not until I understand more about the forces moving against us.
The pendant represented more than mere jewellery, it was a potential connection to her 'soul mind'. Lady La Muerte Le Gor wasn't just his aunt but a renowned Monarch-ranked swordswoman whose mastery of the cultivation path had earned her whispered respect across the empire. Her understanding of progression through the ranks, from Awakened through the numbered ranks to Master, King, and eventually Monarch—could prove invaluable now that his abilities had been reset.
