Gunmage
Chapter 108: Wings of deceit

Chapter 108: Chapter 108: Wings of deceit

Lugh had already known this. He had known it long ago—but refused to accept it.

Until now.

And once he did, he went on to dig his graves.

It brought him peace of mind. Oddly enough, stabilizing his mental state in the process.

He could feel it, subtle, but present. A sliver of warmth, of grounding. He felt more human. He felt more real.

It was progress.

Still, there were outliers among the souls of Drakensmar.

Those who clung to the world not because of rage or regret, but because of yearning—burning, fervent desires left unfulfilled.

A scavenger who longed for the taste of white bread.

A novelist who never finished her final Chapter.

A street fighter who only wanted one clean shot at winning an underground tournament.

And soldiers. Dozens of them, who died praying they’d see the end of the war.

There were hundreds of such wishes.

And Lugh would grant them.

He had to, if he wanted the voices to quieten.

He already had.

He walked over to the shelf and picked up a large, thick book, worn at the corners and heavy in the hand.

Tucked in the middle was a wide, carefully folded piece of paper.

He drew it out and unfurled it on the worktable, the pale light above casting shadows across its edges.

Reaching for his pencils and instruments, he glanced down at the delicate design.

The conception was naive and beautiful. Twin wings stacked vertically, with joints that allowed them to fold inward like a bird at rest.

The fuselage was sleek yet skeletal. Reinforced with lightweight struts and cloth panels stretched over a wooden frame.

No visible weapons, no hard edges. The tail curled slightly upward, stabilizers drawn like feathers.

The cockpit was small, fit only for one.

The design didn’t come from a military engineer or some renowned scholar.

It had been salvaged from the crumpled dreams of a crippled boy.

A boy who did not wish to walk—but to fly, like the birds he so often watched from his window.

His name had been Rhys Elwyn, though everyone just called him Rhy.

Lugh’s eyes lowered to the bottom edge of the paper, where, in fading ink, the invention was named.

The "Rhy-wing."

The design was nearly complete now. Creation would be a matter of time and resources, both of which would be hard-earned.

There would be failures. Many.

Only those who stood to gain something from its success would have the patience to endure that. If only Prince Lovainne were awake.

But that was a problem for another day.

Right now, something else gnawed at Lugh’s mind.

The sheer effort they were putting into keeping him restrained.

He could leave whenever he wished, that wasn’t the issue.

It was why they were going to such lengths to contain him.

Even his stepsisters, who usually made themselves a persistent annoyance, had gone unusually quiet.

Lirienne too, despite desperately wanting his attention on something, had restrained herself.

He could only attribute this shift to the arrival of their elusive uncle, Edrin.

And then there was that moment at the church.

When Isolde handed him a veil and said.

"You cannot be seen."

The implications were starting to line up.

An explanation presented itself.

The existence of the bastard son of Von Heim was not known to anyone outside of the mansion.

Not the noble houses.

Not the extended Von Heim branches.

Perhaps not even the staff who worked and lived under this very roof.

At least, not all of them.

If that were true, then showing himself might have consequences, unintended and deeply inconvenient ones.

Consequences he didn’t have the patience to deal with.

As he refined the lines on the Rhy-wing’s rudder, a clean, white-furred mouse scurried through the corridor of the mansion.

Through the mouse’s gaze, Lugh followed its silent path. Up the stairs, past the servant halls, until it reached a warmly lit study.

Isolde’s.

Inside, two figures sat in plush, high-backed chairs positioned across from each other.

The fire snapped in the hearth between them. Isolde, dressed in a deep maroon gown, sat upright, spine straight, expression unreadable.

Edrin, in contrast, lounged with ease. The dim light softened the harshness of his features. He held a glass of brandy in one hand, swirling the amber liquid lazily.

"You’ve been avoiding this question for a long time"

Isolde said, her voice quiet but firm.

"I’ve chosen to ignore you, but I can’t anymore."

Her eyes locked on his.

"Why did Father-in-law send you here?"

Edrin tilted his head.

"I already told you. He sent me to monitor you—discreetly, of course. Under the pretense of negotiating trade contracts, handling intelligence reports, making a few appearances at auctions... that sort of thing."

Isolde narrowed her eyes.

"Allow me to rephrase the question."

A pause.

"Why did he send you to monitor me?"

Edrin didn’t answer immediately. He leaned forward and rested his elbow on the armrest, fingers tapping the side of his glass.

"That?"

He said at last.

"It’s because he suspects you’re involved in some kind of... arrangement with the Church."

Isolde was stunned.

"Wait—what?"

Edrin shrugged, as if the accusation were casual gossip.

"It makes sense if you look at it from his perspective."

"Why would he think that?"

She asked, her voice rising slightly.

He took a slow sip, then set the glass down.

"Because you were attacked. All the Von Heim guards assigned to you were slaughtered. And yet, only you and your personal guards, handpicked from your maiden house, survived."

He leaned back, gaze steady.

"It was supposed to be an ’assassination’ attempt, wasn’t it?"

Isolde stared at him, her breathing unstable.

"But—that’s..."

She started, but the words didn’t come.

Now that he said it aloud... it did look staged.

Her family’s reputation—House Caldreth—preceded them. Known in whispers as assassins-for-hire, their notoriety tainted everything they touched.

From the outside, it would look like she’d orchestrated the attack herself. A way to get rid of her shackles, namely the guards assigned to her by the second branch family of Von heim.

This would explain why they had hastily restocked on her ’protectors’ without the extensive vetting processes they normally employed.

Isolde’s eyes clouded as she remembered the collapse. The building that fell, the guard’s quarters. Most of them were killed in that. Her fingers clenched.

This wasn’t an assassination attempt.

It was a move designed to fracture the Von Heim family from within.

And it might have worked, if Edrin hadn’t been the one sent to watch her.

As much as she loathed him, she owed him some gratitude. At least this once.

Still...

Her brow furrowed.

"Alright"

she said slowly,

"I understand what you’re saying. But what does the Church have to do with any of this?"

Edrin scratched at the scruff along his chin, clearly choosing his words.

"Because while we assumed the assassins were tied to your house, their abilities... they didn’t line up."

"What do you mean?"

"Their appearance sent a huge surge of investigations across every noble house in the kingdom"

Isolde nodded. That much she remembered. After all, those people had used the abilities of almost every major house, wait—

"You think it’s the church"

"Bingo!"

Only the church seemed completely unaffected by the chaos. Apart from being heavily suppressed and sanctioned by the royal family they remained indifferent, even though their flame arts were also used.

Isolde’s mind raced, piecing together something.

"So you’re saying... those people were sent by the Church?"

She repeated, slowly.

Edrin nodded, calm but firm.

"They’re the only ones with the reach, the secrecy, and the resources to pull it off."

"But that doesn’t make sense..."

Isolde refuted

"The Church..."