"My name is Caelum," the boy said, his voice as light as a summer breeze, cutting through the heavy silence that followed the slaughter.
Seraphina stood amidst the dissolving remains of the Sentinels, her sword tip lowered to the dirt. She turned her head slowly, her breath still coming in ragged gasps, to see the child standing near a patch of crushed ferns. He looked perfectly calm, as if the blood on her dress and the scorched earth between them were merely parts of a painting.
"But you can't tell anyone about this," he added quickly, pressing a small finger to his lips. He glanced nervously over his shoulder toward the looming obsidian silhouette of the Magic Tower. "Especially not the Archmage. I'm not supposed to be outside."
Seraphina leaned heavily on her sword, the translucent green aura Caelum had gifted her finally evaporating into the damp forest air. As the magic left her, the weight of her blood-soaked gown returned with a vengeance, pulling at her tired shoulders.
"Caelum," she whispered, testing the name. "How did you... you're one of them. From the Tower."
"I'm the one who doesn't like staying in rooms," he replied with a small, secretive smile. "But I have to go back now. The doors are going to open soon, and if the Archmage feels my mana in the trees, she'll make the cage smaller."
"Wait," Seraphina panted, reaching out a trembling hand. "You saved my life. Why help me? Why risk getting caught?"
Caelum looked at the shattered Siphon Altar, his expression turning sour. "Because that thing was choking the woods. It smelled like rotten eggs and old shadows. I couldn't move the air with that thing screaming in the middle of it."
He pointed at the base of the broken white stone, where the black vines were already turning to grey ash. "Take the shiny thing, Lady Sword-Wielder. It doesn't belong to the shadow-men."
Seraphina knelt, her knees hitting the dirt with a dull thud. Poking out from the debris was a Silver Crest—the official seal of the Imperial Ministry of Internal Affairs. Her heart turned to ice. This wasn't just a cult uprising; the call was coming from inside the Palace walls.
"Go now," Caelum urged, his body starting to flicker like a reflection in a disturbed pond. "The wind is almost gone, and your legs will start to feel like lead again in a minute. Run while you can still move."
"I'll keep your secret, Caelum," Seraphina promised, clutching the cold silver seal to her chest. "I won't let them know you were here."
The boy gave a final, mischievous wink. "I know. The wind told me you were someone who knows how to keep a secret."
With a sudden, sharp whoosh of air that ruffled the tattered hem of Seraphina's dress, he was gone. No footprints remained, only the faint scent of pine needles and the distant, angry hum of the Palace ritual.
Seraphina forced herself to stand, her muscles screaming in protest. She had the proof she needed. Now, she just had to survive long enough to show it to Alaric.