With the city of Misthaven back under the control of the Mizuna Union, the Hilree elves retreated back to their borders, where everything would slowly return to normal.

Revom and his congregation attended to as many wounded as possible; humans or akajsis were to have their wounds treated even though several didn't wish to. However, their presence would end up being short-lived, for the following day, a message reached Sorika, Revom's scribe.

"Regent Revom, the city of Lastrel has fallen, and you are needed there immediately."

That message disturbed the old man. Even though he feared and predicted that it would happen, that notification left an expression of astonishment on his face to the point that his apprentices feared it had affected him too much.

The Regent of the Order had no choice but to ride to Lastrel with his congregation.

His people were marching again with him in the lead, several days on the roads separated him from that city, and he wished to be the first to bear the sight of that devastated city.

Revom and his congregation arrived from the northwest, skirting the roads that led to Hilree, and from that point, they encountered hundreds of refugees leaving the city. Badly wounded and starving, bandaged men and women were marching in the opposite direction.

Hardel and Eizell, who were riding just behind the Regent, watched in horror the torment of these people; mothers tried to calm the cries of their children, and men cried out in pain at the absence of some of their limbs. No one on that path of pain seemed to be completely healthy.

As they reached the top of the hill, the city of Lastrel was on the horizon of that sunny morning. Just from where they were, they could already see the city's disaster; its walls were shattered, and many buildings nearly collapsed or standing only by their own inert will. The beautiful siren that once welcomed travelers, only the abdomen and her long tail remained.

An unexplained fire had recently consumed the city, a fire that had supposedly started from the cathedral in honor of Lithal. Such misfortunes were new, for at no time in the warning was there any mention of a fire.

Sorika's face wore an expression of pain and astonishment at the sight of the city. "In the name of Tisvar..."

"Where is Lithal to look after her people?" spat Eizell contemptuously.

"Don't start using the names of gods for this," retorted Revom, curt and authoritative.

Eizell tried to argue, but when he saw the steady look in his master's heavy eyes, he knew it was time to shut up.

The Order of the White Flame congregation marched with banners raised through the city gates. Once again, their white robes and confidence, benevolent bearing brought hope to the city's inhabitants.

Quickly, Revom's congregation used their experience and the meager tools the city had to offer to support them. Their priests would care for the wounded, and their warriors would find survivors among the ruins.

Revom reached the cathedral, where the Matriarch of Light's men and women of faith were tending to the wounded that remained in the square in front of the collapsed building. The man saw how several of the cathedral's towers were missing, and some walls were charred. What had happened there was catastrophic.

Hardel got off his horse and went to help the priests by instinct, while Eizell, for his part, asked his master for permission to help look for survivors. The former put aside his beliefs to help the people. The latter preferred to stay away from heretics priestesses.

The old man walked among badly wounded men and women who, in most cases, only wished for their pain to end. The smell of blood and gangrene caused that stoic and serene man a need to sit, so he did it on the edge of the great fountain in front of the cathedral.

Leaning back on his staff, he sighed as he wiped the cold sweat from his brow.

"Regent, are you all right?" asked Sorika in alarm.

The man raised his look to the girl, whose face was full of concern.

"Yes, my apprentice, I am fine," he replied.

"I can get you something to drink if you wish," the girl added.

The man looked at her and, after swallowing saliva, shook his head.

Then, he said, "Right now, my condition is not a priority. We need to find the city council, find out if they survived, and find out what happened..."

"Regent," exclaimed the girl crestfallen, "All of this, this siege, this destruction, was it the work of marked ones?"

The man watched the girl but soon averted his gaze to the ground. He knew the answer.

"Do you think it was them?" the man asked.

"I don't know, Regent," she shook her head, holding her bead and spell book against her chest, "I only know that when the chaos of this magnitude occurs, they are usually in the midst..."

Revom sighed, for, in that, she was somewhat correct.

"Let that not grieve you now," Revom indicated, "If they were the ones who caused it, they should have been gone days ago. Now there are only wounded, and their ravages left all over--"

The Regent was unable to finish, for his mind had flown elsewhere by the time he tried.

When Revom realized what had happened, the destroyed city of Lastrel had vanished before him, and he was standing before the cliffs of his former homeland. He was now in a dream. He was once again in the martyr's demense.

Agitated and ill-tempered, the old man turned every which way, where at a distance, he could see the table where they were all gathered. Then, without mediation, he hurried to that place, striking his staff hard against the floor with every step.

Upon reaching the table, he asked, "In the name of the circle and the father of justice, what does this mean?"

There were new and familiar faces and empty chairs at the table.

Among the faces Revom quickly recognized were Lady Mira, the member of the spy corps, and Master Inquisitor Gardar, known as "the scourge of the steppes''.

Both gave Revom a glance but were more attentive to another situation.

"Where are they at the moment?" asked a deep, steady voice.

Axlind held out his hand and, from the center of that stone table, began to draw a map of the southern shores of Aeton. They could see the beaches of Mizuna, the lands of Malinland belonging to the Kingdom of Soramel, and the kingdoms of Aether and Betheas, as well as the surrounding islands.

The martyr soon noted, "We believe they fled on the Guild of Wind Oath merchant ship. However, considering the storms that the Marked Wizard caused, we expect they have been delayed and are just south of Malinland, near Emeru Island."

"From what I see, the plan was a bloody failure," Revom spat in annoyance as he looked at Axlind, "Brilliant strategy, my lord..."

Axlind and everyone at the table watched him; Revom could feel the martyr's eyes through the black mask he wore with eyes that seemed to be stabbing.

"Regent Revom, take a seat," the deep voice commanded.

Revom turned and then noticed that, at the other end of the table, one of the pontiff's Circle of Advisors members, the advisor and battle hero Racrel Vrig, a man of imposing stature who wore the sworn inner Circle robes of the Order.

For Revom, only the look of that man was enough to keep him silent, for in his black eyes was drawn the sacred responsibility of his Order.

"Proceed, martyr," indicated the man with his one arm to Axlind.

The elf nodded and continued drawing the stone map with his hand, "As we know, their goal would be to reach Adhaz. However, we assume they are traveling as ordinary passengers, and the ship doesn't take priority with their transfer, so it will take several days in various ports."

"Will they alight at any port?" asked the Pontiff's Counselor.

"No, my lord," Lady Mira indicated. "For all we know, the marked trickster, Ronan of Vilna, intended their ultimate destination to be Adhaz."

"Forgive my boldness," exclaimed Master Inquisitor Gardar with an indifferent look that reflected the opposite of his polite words, "Several members are missing here since the last meeting; What happened?"

Axlind looked at the Councilor, who, with a nod, allowed him to answer that question, "Paladin Antton of Vastad was captured in Adwar by who we presuppose was the Eye of the Storm."

A brief silence formed at the table, and several, including Revom, looked at each other.

The elf continued, "His whereabouts are uncertain, but he is thought dead by the Eye of the Storm."

Revom then finally asked his question, "Where is Cardinal Vandac? He should be at this table."

"Yes, he should, but..."

The counselor raised his hand, and Axlind was silenced.

"Regent Gran, are you in the Miznian city of Lastrel right now?"

The old man nodded to his superior, "I arrived a few hours ago; we are tending to the wounded Vandac's plan caused. There are hundreds of refugees, thousands of wounded, and destruction everywhere."

Revom watched as Axlind turned his look to Mira; with a nod, the girl seemed to confirm the Regent's words.

The counselor proceeded, "As we already know, Cardinal Vandac Prises not only listened to his advisers and made unfair and unworthy dealings with demons. But, besides that, they did what they wanted..."

As the counselor spoke, on the rock on the table where the map of South Aeton was made, figures made of the same stone began to appear. Axlind created one figure of that man in the robes of the Order and who represented Vandac; In front of him was a warrior in ostentatious armor who held up four heads by their tresses before him.

"It is clear that allowing Vandac to lead this task was a mistake. That is why he and those close to him will be subjected to Divine Judgment in Velkas."

The eyes of many widened at that news; the fact that they would be tried in the Capital of the Empire of Mordia meant that it would likely be the pontiff himself who would be judging them.

"Who's the knight?" asked Master Inquisitor Gardar.

"His name is Urian, known as the headhunter," answered Axlind. "He belongs to the League of Efran and is the champion of the House Veelta of Dyndra. An odd figure..."

"We'll take care of him; it's just a loose end..." Racrel continued with a calm voice until he talked to the old man again. "Regent Revom Gran, I was informed that you killed a demon in Mizuna."

"Yes," the old man stated, "A trickster by the name of Trelan; the creature was judged on the spot."

"You stopped a war," Axlind pointed out. "You're a hero."

"I was just doing my job," the old man soon replied, demonstrating a lack of interest in being pondered.

"Still, that's more than enough reason to consider you for a promotion in the Order," said the Counselor.

"My lord, it is not necessary," replied Revom, "Many times, I have been offered positions in our sacred Order, but I have always refused them."

"Right," said that dark-skinned man without an arm, "You could be right now filling my position if you wished; however, you have never wished for that, which is unusual..."

"I prefer that our apprentices and recruits learn from my face-to-face experience and not what I have passed on to some student of mine,'' the elder explained. "My congregation and those around me are what matter to me."

"You are a wise man, Regent," Axlind said, "There are corridors dedicated to you in the Nesberbak library. But, of course, it is something you should know, as it is one of your main sanctuaries."

Revom sighed and soon seemed to evade the subject, "Councilor, if I have been called to this table to bestow a higher office, I must prefer to be allowed to leave and thus help the wounded and needy of Lastrel."

"This time, I will ask you to consider your possible new title," Racrel indicated, leaning back in his stone chair, "Think of it also as favorable for your apprentices and congregation."

"Lady Mira," Axlind called to the spy, "Can you make arrangements for the Regent and his congregation to depart for Nesberbak through Thornstone's great portal once Lastrel's business is finished?"

"It is not necessary," Revom indicated.

"It is, and it will become an order, Regent," the Counselor indicated.

Knowing he could not refuse his superior, Revom accepted the Order with a nod before rising from his chair.

Axlind cryptically finished by saying one last sentence to the Regent before letting the man's mind depart.

"Regent, see this break as a way to be able to open your birdcages."

The words puzzled Revom, but his eyes opened wide before that mystical tug brought him back to his body.

The man shuddered, and soon he was before Sorika again.

"Regent, is something wrong?" asked the girl, who soon knelt before her master, taking him by one hand.

To Sorika, barely a second had passed since Revom left her body.

Quickly, he exclaimed and released her hand, "I'm fine."

"Were you called by the Order?" she asked, dismayed.

Revom watched her and soon nodded, "After we finish here, we will return to Nesberbak.

"Oh, that's... okay, I guess..." the girl didn't quite know how to take that news.

Hardel soon made his way to where Revom was sitting, at the square's foot of the water fountain.

"Are we going home?" asked the boy, who had barely heard his master's words.

"It seems so," said Sorika.

Revom leaned on his staff and took a deep breath at all that had happened when his attention was called.

"Regent, look," exclaimed Hardel, pointing to the sky.

From the falling sky flew a messenger bird, made of paper, which landed in the old man's lap. The bird was battered; its design looked crude and made by someone novice.

"Who sent you a message?" asked Sorika, alarmed.

Her dismay was valid, for it was common knowledge that messages for her master had to go through her.

The man, with trembling hands, soon recalled Axlind's words. Opening it, he read it quickly, and concern was on his face for a few moments.

"Regent?" Sorika tried to get her master's attention.

The old man quickly answered her, "He is no one. Now, perform your duties."

Revom hastily stowed the paper on his chest's breastplate and rose from his place.