2412, Xavem 21, Jyda

Kennen bolted with a gasp, hands flying to his chest. No blood. That meant...

"You have a lot of explaining to do, young man," a stern voice belonging to his mother speared through his ears, tearing his attention on the fact that he was alive and not...well, dead.

"Mother," the word flitted out of his mouth, this time without the inhibition of any force on the island. "Wh..."

Another shadow fell over him, and he looked up in time to see Dalan cross his arms over his chest. "I'd rather not see you flat on your face, Kennen," the half-blood chided as if he's a parent Kennen gained overnight. It wasn't a far-off occurrence, though. Kennen was oddly sure the Grand Marshal heaped the task of tailing Kennen on the healer. "I don't know if you're keeping count, but this number is enough."

It took his senses a while to register the soft light streaming from the illuminated panels of ice overhead, the neat arrays of historical displays stuck inside the translucent walls, and the mess of the Bloodspeaker sprawled on the floor along with the robes he wore. A few notches from the tip of his boots lay the Warseeker, fortweres outside its shelter. Apparently, he had fallen sideways when something inside the Cardinic throne flared to life under the influence of the Cloak.

Apart from the stabbing sensation haunting his chest, he felt rather fine. He glanced at his fingers and limbs. Still complete. What a relief.

Dalan cleared his throat, jarring Kennen out of his reverie. His gaze snapped up to find his mother and the healer glaring down at him. Oh.

"Apologies," he groaned on his way up. His world swayed a little when his legs threatened to forget how to stand. "I'm...Where do I start?"

A strong grip circled his arm, and the Grand Marshal dragged him out of the Hall of Symbols, off the floor, and into the war room. This wasn't the Grand Marshal's office, judging from the large round table and the absence of any fixtures other than it. Dalan ducked into the opening ripped through the wall before it closed on him. What's the healer got to do with this?

The Grand Marshal settled Kennen into a high-backed chair, the legs creaking under the sudden addition of his wait. Her hands never left his shoulders, as if she's afraid he'd run off the moment she let go. "Start with what you're planning to do with those two thrones," she said. "What's going on? Is that why you needed my permission to visit the armory? You can't have bothered to tell me directly?"

"Mother," Kennen interjected, brushing her hand on his shoulder. "We won't get anywhere if you keep asking questions like that."

His mother frowned, but didn't speak more. She retreated to the immediate seat next to his. Dalan settled behind the backrest of her seat.

Kennen blew a breath and fought the urge to twiddle his fingers. Being caught red-handed was one of the worst feelings he had to ever endure. "It started with the Warseeker revealing itself to me," he said. The story came pouring out, starting from his attempts to find out what in Umazure was the Cardinic throne until his eventual theft of the Bloodspeaker.

"Wait. Did that mean the object you're telling me about in the Infirmary is the freaking throne of Cardina?" Dalan shook his head and brushed the dark locks which escaped from their low tail. "And you got me to advise you to go to the Glyrons?"

Heat rushed into Kennen's cheeks. He looked at his boots, grateful his feet didn't hurt from running over cobblestones. Nevertheless, he could still smell the burning cinders and the tang of blood. A shiver sped down his spine, and he did his best to remain still so as to not alert his two overseers.

"That's because you have a patient, and I can't go around talking about state secrets," he defended. Why did this feel like a fripping tribunal when it wasn't? A heavy sigh ripped off his chest. "I'm sorry for all the lies, okay? I did it because we don't have much time left."

He leveled his gaze on his mother. "I'm sure you're aware of that."

The Grand Marshal's lips pressed into a thin line. "But that doesn't mean you get to run around and desecrate our heritage," she said. "I will have a word with the Courts about our next course of action."

Kennen's throat closed up. "Will there be a trial?" he asked. "For me?"

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," she replied with a tone no softer than frozen cotton. "What did you do with the two thrones?"

He chewed on his lip. It has become a habit without him noticing it. "I used the Cloak's magic to force the Warseeker to give up its secrets," he said. "And it did. That's why you found me like that. I was...lost in the past."

"The past?" Dalan echoed.

Kennen bobbed his head. "Or it's some kind of memory. It's stuck inside the Warseeker, and it transported me to a shred of history that our people forgot," he tapped his chin. "Rather, it was a side that was left out. Our ancestors never bothered to tell us about it."

"What happened?" The Grand Marshal asked.

He lowered his gaze into the polished surface of the round table, half-expecting to still see the thief's face reflected back at him. His ears had gone back to its familiar, tapered shape, but whenever a stray breeze kissed his helices, he felt a sliver of the rounded arch flickering against the side of his head.

"Kensa Jarmez, the Ice Sprite who led the underground relocation," he said. "Was not who we thought him to be."

He recounted the contents of the memory, starting from the original Kensa meeting Losan Canraren until the eventual betrayal and series of murders. He had to brace the table's rim when he talked about Noreen Elrieth, the thief who stole his name, stabbed Kensa from behind. Just because he was a lowly thief and the Ice Sprites needed to start anew.

"Someone was there with us...um, them," Kennen continued. "A woman with red hair and aquamarine eyes. She wore a hooded cloak over her clothes and looked like she could see the future."

Dalan knitted his eyebrows, a frown crumpling his features. "How can you say that?" he prodded.

"She knew the path through the city that wouldn't get hit in the crossfire. She could predict where the blades would crash, and she told Kensa something that didn't make sense before he died," Kennen said.

The Grand Marshal jerked her chin at him, her expression grim. "What did she say?"

"That the thief's murder will make sense one day," Kennen narrowed his eyes, running the words over and over at the back of his mind. "It's like...she wasn't doing it for the sake of the thief. From the way she constructed her words, it's as if she knew I would eventually uncover the Warseeker's secrets."

"Creepy," Dalan muttered under his breath, but Kennen didn't miss it.

A chuckle rippled off Kennen's chest. "Damn right, it is."

Killing off a random person and taking their name—it's wrong on so many levels, and Kennen couldn't stomach the fact that his people's history was anchored on that. Now, they knew Kensa Jarmez to be their hero, the one who saved them in dire need. He was the one who championed the development of the Ice Capital and insinuated all the talks and maneuvers to get their race underground. That's why the royal line remained to be Jarmez, and that's why Kennen existed.

But he understood that fervent wish to protect one's people. The red-haired woman might not have been a human, but she understood the consequences of letting such a powerful object fall into the wrong hands. Losan Canraren, with how casually Rutoria addressed him, was probably working with her to secure the Warseeker. They knew there would be a coup inside the human resistance, and they formulated the plan of getting the ice sprites' help in saving their throne.

Losan eventually died for that cause, even going as far as claiming the enemy would never get the throne for themselves. And it's true. Cardina didn't even know where their throne was or even whether they had one.

Those who loved their community enough to give their lives to it would do everything it takes to keep their people safe. That much Kennen understood. And if this detour taught him anything, it's that it's about time for him to start doing the same. It would be suicide to start relocating to the surface now, with the threat of war hanging over their heads. And if the Helgase line vowed to search for their throne and get a hold of some information regarding the Ice Capital, it'd be one hell of a mess.

They needed allies, and perhaps it's not too late to seek the Warseeker's heir before anyone else could, before they went into the erroneous path of destruction and greed.

"I was wrong. Forget the surface relocation thing. Right now, we have to prepare for an upcoming large-scale attack," Kennen said. "The Brownies in Alkara have stopped responding to our channels, and I doubt they're doing it on purpose. Something befell them, and if we're not careful, we'll be next in the list of targets."

The Grand Marshal opened her mouth to protest, but a series of thundering footsteps flooded from the corridors and into the war room.

At least three Marshals rushed inside, chest heaving in an effort to catch their breaths. One of them was Geradine Draswist, the latest of the long line of Draswist generals. "Your Highness, it's an emergency," she said, bracing the doorway's rim. "Intruders on the eastern stocks."

His mother couldn't have forgotten about him that fast. It's starting—Kennen's thoughts never failed to remind him. And if they're not prepared for this, who's to say there would be an Ice Capital tomorrow?

2412, Xavem 24, Reshpe

Kennen blinked, urging the dry spell hitting his eyes to go away. He had been in the Chief's archives for so long he had forgotten if he took the midday potion or not. How come he missed the bell? And where's Remryn?

"You need to get up from that cushion, Little Chief," the Master said behind him. "I am feeling the pain for you."

"Master Remryn," he swiveled around to find the woman turned archivist bracing her hips. Her curly red hair was more orange than Rutoria's—something he couldn't get out of his mind even as he drowned his attention with learning all he could inside this hidden cavern. "What do you know about the Helgase Dynasty?"

Because there's another mystery he hadn't cracked. Along with the Canraren line, the tome chronicling the Warseeker's descriptions mentioned houses, meaning plural. Combine that with the Helgase line, there should be more houses who had equal share on the Cardinic throne. How come none of them ever stepped forward? And what about that woman with rigidly-tied brown hair? Who was she?

Remryn sank next to Kennen, glancing at the mess of bloodline logs opened before him. "They still control Cardina until today, I think," she scratched her chin in thought. What's so interesting in the ceiling for her to crane her neck up at it? "It's strangely familiar, too. Helgase. Helgase."

She snapped her fingers then pointed to the table. "Search the records," she said. "I knew I heard that name somewhere."

Kennen joined the Master in her frenzy, pulling dusty tomes off their shelves, skimming through them, and shoving them back inside after a click of the tongue or two. They tore through the niches in an efficiency he could never match on his own. They started from the shelves nearest the door, and within a few hours, they're close to the last row. The tomes have become older, that much Kennen noticed with each one passing through his hold. The parchment yellowed and threatened to tear at the slightest touch.

As he reached the last bound in his niche, Remryn popped from his shoulder and jabbed a finger on the tome's peeling leather cover. "That's the one, I think," she said, waving him back to their perch and jerking her chin on the table. He swept the existing residents to give their new find some room. "Prove me wrong. Tell me the Helgase name wasn't there."

Kennen was more than eager to oblige. This was an untold story, after all. Page after page zipped by him, thousands of names printed in ink and scrawled on brittle parchment evaporating in his memory the moment they went out of his sight. He landed on a page, and right there, in the middle of the list, sat...

"There we go," Remryn blew a stray lock of hair off her face. "I'm right again. What's new?"

Kennen let that go, focusing on the fact that the name Helgase appeared on the list of every family who have been an ice sprite after the division of their synnavaim. That meant...

"Who's the current heir in Cardina?" Kennen prodded. He doubted Remryn knew anything about it from being cooped up in the archives at all times, but it's worth the shot.

"From the reports I overheard from the espionage department, I think it's someone called Nyxis Helgase," she replied. "He's the only survivor of the Cardina Coup. Recent sightings pinpointed his location somewhere in Alkara, then later in Helinfirth. The latest report revealed he's somewhere in Dwanzeig. Why would he visit all those places? Who knew? It's not like I know the dude in person—"

"You mean to say the Helgase line was among those who fell after the Hundred Years' War?" Kennen ventured.

Remryn shrugged. "Bloodlines are messy," she said. "It's best to never trouble yourself with them."

Kennen couldn't have agreed more. Bloodlines would only complicate things and give people enough reason to avoid certain souls. From what he learned from Remryn, the current heir was a survivor. A coup wasn't an easy thing to live through, and if he's still alive and kicking in other territories, it meant he had the guts to make it past anything else.

The past wasn't something Kennen could correct, but the future wasn't set in stone, no matter how much Rutoria claimed it was. They still have a choice, and Kennen made his. Forget bloodlines. It's time he gave the Helgase line another chance.

It's time to welcome a brother back home.