The room was colder than expected—not by temperature, but by silence. Sinus stood in the middle, posture straight, his coat still dusted from the long ride through Menyurl's bitter roads. Around him sat the officials of the Pillar Guild—twelve of them, each positioned like judge and executioner. Their expressions weren't merely skeptical. They were venomous.
"This is the famed Taskhand?" one muttered with a sneer, not bothering to whisper. "They send a child to bargain with us?"
Sinus didn't flinch. He had heard worse.
Another leaned forward, lips curling in contempt. "Heard your people found the nobles in three days. Too fast, don't you think?"
"Almost like they were planted there to begin with," someone else said, pretending to be thoughtful. They all laughed.
It was a performance. A well-rehearsed routine designed to draw blood with words, not steel. Sinus stood through it, calm, like a stone in the river. The only betrayal was in his clenched fists behind his back.
At last, the man seated in the central chair—the one with the guild seal etched into the silver clasp on his cloak—spoke.
"Problem is, Sir Sinus, we aren't ready for an alliance, and we will disagree with your conditions. The Pillar Guild is well-off on its own."
There it was. The formal rejection. The rehearsed dagger dressed as diplomacy.
The man leaned back, folding his arms. "Please now, if you may, make your way to the exit."
No room for negotiation. Not even a farewell.
Sinus didn't bow. He wasn't a diplomat, and he didn't owe them the courtesy. He simply turned and walked out.
Why did this happen?
The answer gnawed at him with every step.
Because the Pillar Guild believed Taskhand was a fraud. Because they whispered that no one should have solved the noble disappearance so quickly unless they were involved. Because they saw Taskhand's precision not as competence, but manipulation.
They were afraid.
Afraid that an upstart force might outpace them. Afraid that Taskhand's methods would expose how far behind they'd fallen.
Sinus wasn't the type to chase a lost cause. He had walked away from worse. He had been called worse.
He sighed as the heavy doors closed behind him, sealing the room like a tomb of old politics.
But as the chill of the wind brushed his face.
---
"Oh my god, how cute!"
The voice came like a startled chirp, and before Evena could blink, three guild members had already rushed over. Another followed, then another — it was like a ripple. Her arrival had triggered a quiet storm.
"Don't worry, Lady Evena! We're big fans here at the Thorsong Kin Guild!" one of them beamed, hands clasped like she was meeting a heroine from an old song. "Lady Selicia was so looking forward to you!"
Evena blinked. Her mouth opened, then closed again.
Words refused to come out. She hadn't expected this.
"Ahh, she's even quieter in person! That's so precious!"
Another member circled her, eyes wide with admiration as if Evena were a lost fairy that had wandered into their mountain halls. Evena didn't know where to look — the members had surrounded her in a half-circle, squealing in delight like they'd just spotted a wild animal they'd been trying to befriend for years.
"And her leg—look, she walks with that little tilt—oh my god, she's so brave!"
Evena stiffened slightly, glancing down at her wooden leg. She had long grown used to the weight, the rhythm of her gait. But now it felt like the world had noticed the uneven tap of her steps.
Evena's lips parted slightly again, but her voice caught in her throat. She only managed a tiny nod.
"She's so delicate… should we feed her?"
That was not a rhetorical question. Within moments, a tray had appeared — stacked with sugar-dusted pastries, delicate spiced tea, and a bowl of hot berry porridge that smelled like something out of a festival dream. Someone gently tugged Evena toward a table, guiding her like she was made of glass.
"She must be tired from the journey. Sit, sit!"
"She didn't even complain once, did you notice that? She walked all the way here, uphill! And didn't say a word!"
Evena, now seated, blinked again as a warm scarf was wrapped loosely around her shoulders without her asking.
Another person passed her a fork with both hands, as if presenting a sacred relic. "Please try this, it's lady Selicia's favorite. We saved it for you!"
Evena took it with trembling fingers. The sweetness melted on her tongue. Her eyes widened just a little — a fraction — and someone gasped.
"She likes it! She likes it!!"
At that point, Evena wasn't sure if she was at a diplomatic visit or a birthday party thrown by overly excited guild members. Her ears burned. Her hands didn't know where to rest. She tried once more to speak, to say a simple thank you. Nothing came out.
They loved her more for it.
"She's so mysterious."
Evena, face flushed and entirely overwhelmed, simply lowered her gaze and kept chewing quietly — a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
And in that loud, affectionate hall of women, not a single person asked her to be more than she was.
They just adored her exactly as she came.
The reason for all this — the fawning, the attention, the overflowing affection — was deceptively simple.
Wanora had planned it.
She told the story of Evena. And when she'd told that story to Selicia, leader of the Thorsong Kin Guild, something had clicked.
Selicia hadn't said much the first time she heard it.
She had just sat there, nodding slowly, brows furrowed as if trying to memorize each piece of Evena's life — not as a guild leader, but as a woman who saw another and recognized the ache beneath her silence. The next day, she told her guild members everything.
The response was satisfying to Wanora knowing that the thorsong kin looks out for ladies of the continent suffering from tragedies.
So, when Wanora contacted Selicia again — this time with an official matter, talking of Taskhand, of the Emperor's sudden favor, of a need for strong alliances — Selicia had agreed to come.
On one condition.
"I want to meet Evena," Selicia had said. "No—let me correct that. We want to meet her."
Wanora hadn't even hesitated. "Then I'll send her ahead. She'll arrive just before you return from the talks.
And now here she was.
Evena didn't know any of that. She hadn't been told the context. All she'd known was that Wanora had gently patted her shoulder before the journey and said, "You'll like them. Trust me."
So when the doors of Thorsong Kin opened and she was suddenly surrounded by warm hands and eager voices, she thought it was just coincidence. That somehow, this was just how the world worked when you walked quietly enough.
She didn't know that the pastries had been baked the night before just for her, or that the scarf now resting over her shoulders had been hand-stitched by one of the younger members who had cried reading Wanora's retelling.
And far away, as Selicia sat in Taskhand headquarters, reviewing alliance documents with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, she asked quietly, "Did she arrive safely?"
"She did," Wanora replied.
"Were they too much?"
Wanora replied. "No idea."
Selicia exhaled,"Good. Because for once, I just wanted someone like her to know what it feels like… to be treasured."