Mad Hatter's Guide to Clearing The Game
Chapter 244: Ch242. Pieces on the board

Chapter 244: Ch242. Pieces on the board

The path back to Vel’Serath was quieter than expected.

Miles and Sarissa walked side by side, boots crunching over dry roots and ash-slick soil, the night sky yawning above them like an open wound stitched with stars. The Blistered Grove lay behind them, that strange den and the monster within now ash and memory.

Neither spoke much on the return.

Not because there wasn’t plenty to say, but because neither quite knew what to say.

The mission had been strange, yes. Dangerous? Without a doubt.

But it hadn’t gone wrong.

They hadn’t been betrayed, no one tried to slit their throats in the dark, no hidden price demanded at the end. Even Harl, impaled and grinning, had seemed more amused than angered.

"I kept waiting for something to go sideways." Sarissa finally broke the silence as the root-path rose into the lower outskirts of the city. The shimmer of Vel’Serath’s lichen-lit towers gleamed faintly ahead.

"Same." Miles replied, shifting his sword on his back, the weight familiar and comforting. "But it didn’t. Not really."

"That almost worries me more." Sarissa frowned. "It felt like they were testing us."

"They were." Miles said. "And I think we passed."

The Lodge gates loomed ahead, still and silent at this hour. But they hadn’t taken three steps past the outer lanterns before a figure emerged from the shadows of a carved pillar, arms folded behind her back.

Keir.

Immaculate, as always, despite the hour.

She stepped forward, her gaze sweeping the two of them with that inscrutable, slightly disdainful calm.

"You return late." Keir said. "But alive. And that is worth something."

"You were waiting for us?" Miles asked, surprised.

"I make it a point to observe which names begin to echo through the Lodge." Keir said. "Ashmark rarely invites company. But when they do, it is best to pay attention."

She gestured toward the nearby wall, where a small doorway led into a side chamber.

"Come, report."

Sarissa glanced at Miles, then followed.

Inside, the room was plain stone and hanging scrolls, each inked with strange symbols. A simple table sat at the center. Keir remained standing, but nodded for them to begin.

Miles summarized the encounter quickly but clearly. The den, the absence of blood, the signs, the creature, the strange nature of its form, how it didn’t bleed, how it moved like cinders and screamed without lungs.

He left out nothing, though he didn’t speculate.

Sarissa filled in gaps where needed, her tone just as measured.

When they finished, Keir looked thoughtful. She paced once, slowly, between the scrolls, then stopped beside a candle and examined the flame.

"The Grove has always been... Temperamental." She said. "But this thing... It does not belong to Vel’Serath. Or even to the wilds. I suspect it predates both."

She turned to them.

"You carried yourselves well. That much I will concede. And I expect word of this hunt will spread by morning."

"We’re not looking for fame." Miles shook his head.

"No." Keir’s lips curled upward. "But fame may find you regardless. And that carries its own weight."

She stepped closer.

"You need to decide who you gather with. In the Lodge, alliances are not just political, they are practical. You’ll find safety in reputation, but also danger in the wrong kind of name. Ashmark skirts the line. Some here think of them as mad. Others think them as necessary."

She let that hang.

"Sleep now. But consider my words, this Lodge is not as divided as it once was. A storm is gathering, and when it breaks, you will need to choose who you bleed beside."

She turned sharply and left, the door closing with a whisper.

***

Back in their assigned quarters, the warm light of the hearth was still glowing.

Dee sat curled on the rug near the fire, eyes half-lidded but alert. When the door creaked open, the creature sprang to its feet with a soft, low chirp.

"Dee!" It trilled, rushing toward them.

Miles knelt immediately, arms open, letting the weight of Dee’s body knock against him. The creature sniffed him all over, then Sarissa, before circling once and pressing close.

"We’re okay." Miles whispered, smiling softly. "Really. Just tired."

Dee let out a long, rumbling purr, but didn’t pull away. Sarissa crouched beside them, resting a hand on Dee’s head.

"He didn’t sleep while we were gone." She said quietly. "I could tell."

"I know." Miles looked at the small carpet, worn from their boots and Dee’s pacing. "He knew something was off."

Dee looked up at him with wide eyes, glowing faintly.

"You’re not wrong." Miles nodded, letting out a sigh. "That group isn’t clean. They might not be evil, but they walk right on the edge."

"But it worked. We got through, we learned, we didn’t lose anything... Yet." Sarissa sat down beside them with a sigh.

"For now... This is what we have. And we’ll make do." Miles nodded. "Let’s just not forget what we’re here for. We still need to understand what the source mentioned in... Mara’s vision is, and why the Professor’s rift brought us here."

Sarissa nodded, her eyes glued to the floor as the memory settled in, and Miles glanced down at Dee.

"You’ll let us know if it goes wrong. Won’t you, buddy?" There was a smile on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Dee blinked, slow and deliberate.

Then, quietly, Miles helped Dee curl up between them. The fire crackled gently as sleep took them.

***

Far above the Lodge, beyond the living towers and buried rootways of Vel’Serath, the castle watched in silence.

Its spires were bone and obsidian, shaped by ritual and will. Windows glowed not with fire, but with the pulsing heartbeat of the tree itself. The throne room lay at its heart, vast and veiled in shadow, and the Queen Regent sat upon her seat of red glass and blood-iron.

Her dress was crimson silk, shimmering like liquid when she moved. Her face was veiled, but her voice was sharp enough to cut through stone.

Jorrin knelt before her, one hand pressed to the stone floor.

"Report." Her voice echoed through the room.

Jorrin spoke without flourish.

"Miles and Sarissa performed as expected. They fought cleanly, without panic, no discord. They fight with rhythm, not rage, and are well-trained, but not conditioned by the Lodge."

The Queen Regent tapped a nail against her throne.

"Your assessment?"

"They’ll adapt. If they choose to. The girl is cautious. The boy hides something, but he doesn’t seek control."

"Do they know who you serve?"

"No. They think Ashmark is rogue, and that I am just a hunter who strayed too far."

The Queen was silent for a time. Then she stood, slowly descending the steps toward him.

"The Lodge is shifting, and I feel pressure along the roots. Something is stirring far beneath the Grove." She stepped close, her presence like heat radiating from deep earth.

"If these two are what I fear they might be..."

"Then?"

"You need to remove them from the board." She reached out and lifted his chin. "Swiftly, cleanly, without spectacle."

Jorrin’s eyes met hers.

"Understood."

"For now, let them serve, let them become tools. We will see whether they are daggers... Or keys." The Queen turned away.

Behind her, the throne pulsed faintly with crimson light, as if the castle itself had heard every word. And behind it, Jorrin could swear he heard a faint hissing.