The first rays of dawn, still hesitant and pale, painted the eastern sky with delicate hues of rose and lavender. ProlixalParagon stirred beneath the broad canopy of an ancient oak, his white fur, marked with its distinctive swirls and patterns of rich black, catching the nascent light in subtle gradations. He stretched languidly, a faint stiffness in his digitigrade limbs a reminder of his unplanned slumber. The cool morning air, carrying the scent of damp earth and awakening foliage, filled his lungs. He had meant only to sit for a moment, to let the weight of Lyra’s generous offer settle within him. The journey to BaiGai, a new continent, a new life alongside the resilient Fennician troupe – the prospect was both alluring and daunting. He had been so engrossed in his contemplation that sleep had stolen upon him unawares.
A flicker of the game’s interface, a translucent clock in the corner of his vision, indicated the early hour. He could log out now, return to the quiet solitude of his apartment before the demands of his other life pressed in. The thought was tempting. The weight of his clandestine forays into Ludere Online, the constant balancing act between ProlixalParagon and Bennett the janitor, often left him feeling frayed. A few more precious hours of real-world rest held a certain appeal.
But then, the familiar spark of ambition ignited within him, a desire that mirrored Bennett’s quiet yearning for something more than his current reality. He remembered the clandestine purpose that had drawn him to the D.I.V.E. pod in the first place: the burning need to impress Dave, to somehow prove his worth and secure that coveted beta tester role. Lyra’s offer, while significant, pulled him further away from that immediate goal. He needed to demonstrate his understanding of Ludere Online, his ability to observe, to contribute insights that went beyond the average player’s experience. Simply joining a caravan, however intriguing, might not achieve that.
He pushed himself to his feet, the soft rustle of fallen leaves beneath his paws the only sound breaking the morning stillness. Logging out could wait. There was something he could do here, in Yendral’s Hollow, something that might catch Dave’s attention. The discovery of the old dungeon, the impending arrival of Soohan warriors – this presented an opportunity. He had already ventured into its depths once, facing unknown dangers and uncovering a tantalizing glimpse of the past. Perhaps a more thorough exploration, a deeper understanding of its secrets, could be the key to showcasing his potential.
As he made his way back towards the heart of the village, a subtle but noticeable change registered in his keen senses. There were more people. Much more. The previous day, Yendral’s Hollow had exuded a quiet, self-contained air. Now, a low hum of unfamiliar voices mingled with the usual sounds of a Soohan village awakening. He saw groups of figures, clad in practical leathers and bearing a variety of weapons, moving with a purposeful stride. Their pointed ears and graceful movements marked them as undeniably Soohan elves. They carried themselves with a quiet confidence, their eyes scanning their surroundings with an air of anticipation.
ProlixalParagon’s rotating ears swiveled, catching snippets of their conversations – hushed discussions about ancient runes, forgotten traps, and the allure of lost artifacts. It was unmistakable. These were the warriors Saelith had spoken of, drawn to Yendral’s Hollow by the promise of the recently discovered dungeon. The influx had begun.
He paused near a gracefully curved dwelling, observing a group of newly arrived elves adjusting their gear. Their presence added a palpable energy to the village, a sense of excitement that contrasted with the quiet routines he had witnessed before. This could complicate things, perhaps making the dungeon more dangerous with increased traffic and competition. Yet, it also presented an opportunity. To navigate this influx, to potentially uncover something significant within the dungeon amidst this surge of interest – that would surely be a noteworthy accomplishment, something to report to Dave that went beyond mere observation of daily life in a Soohan village. The decision was made. BaiGai and the comforts of logging out could wait. ProlixalParagon had a dungeon to explore, and a beta testing position to earn.
ProlixalParagon moved with a deliberate casualness, his white fur, with its distinctive black swirls, easily blending with the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves of the ancient trees lining the village paths. His rotating ears swiveled constantly, gathering the low murmur of conversation that now permeated Yendral’s Hollow, a stark contrast to the quieter atmosphere of the previous day. The village seemed to have swelled overnight, the slender, gracefully curved Soohan architecture now framed by a significant influx of new arrivals.
The majority of the newcomers were undeniably Soohan elves. ProlixalParagon observed countless individuals with their characteristic sharp, elegant features and pointed ears. Many were clad in what appeared to be practical military regalia – supple leather armor, often in shades of forest green and deep brown, bearing subtle silvered markings that hinted at rank or affiliation. They carried themselves with a quiet discipline, their movements fluid and purposeful, their hands never far from the hilts of curved moonsteel blades or the finely crafted bows slung across their backs. Interspersed among these were other elves whose armor was more piecemeal, a collection of leather and perhaps scavenged metal, suggesting they might be independent adventurers or members of smaller retinues drawn by the dungeon’s allure. A striking detail that ProlixalParagon noted was that each elf, regardless of their attire, wore a thin, often translucent veil that obscured their long hair. The veils, made of a shimmering material that caught the light in subtle ways, added an air of mystery to their already elegant forms, and ProlixalParagon wondered if this was a cultural custom or held some specific significance for those about to delve into ancient ruins.
Adding to the village's changed character were the Cataphractans. ProlixalParagon counted around twenty, their imposing builds and draconic features setting them apart from the lithe elves. Each displayed a unique combination of scale colors – deep blues that shimmered like polished obsidian, vibrant greens reminiscent of jungle foliage, burnished coppers that gleamed in the morning light, and even a few with scales of a rare, almost pearlescent white. Their horns, too, were diverse, ranging from the classic spiraling markhor shape he had observed on Kaelthari to more elaborate, branching antlers or sharp, backward-curving spikes. Many of the Cataphractans held themselves with an air of arcane power, their hands occasionally sparking with faint, controlled bursts of energy, or bearing intricately carved staves that pulsed with a subtle inner light, suggesting they were mages. Others, however, carried themselves with a more martial bearing, their large, scaled hands gripping formidable swords that looked capable of cleaving through stone. Their movements, while powerful, possessed a grounded strength, and their keen golden eyes surveyed their surroundings with an air of quiet confidence.
Despite the potential dangers of the unknown dungeon that had drawn them, the atmosphere among the new arrivals was surprisingly relaxed. Groups of elves and Cataphractans stood in small clusters, their voices a low hum that mingled with the awakening sounds of the village. ProlixalParagon, with his keen hearing, caught snippets of their conversations as he moved through the village streets.
“The runes Saelith’s hunters discovered… they speak of wards against shadow,” one veiled elf in military leather murmured to their companion, their moonsteel dagger catching the sunlight. “Perhaps something truly ancient lies beneath.”
A burly, green-scaled Cataphractan mage, his large hands manipulating a small, glowing orb, rumbled in response, “Artifacts of the old ones… power unimaginable. I’ve heard tales of weapons that sing with the elements and armors that turn aside any blow.”
Another conversation nearby involved a group of elves with mismatched leather armor. “Think the Draggor will actually try something?” one asked, adjusting a loose piece of their armor. “Marching all that way from Dustreach… across the border?”
A second elf, their veil shimmering as they shook their head, scoffed. “Doubtful. Soohan territory is not easily breached. They remember what happened last time they tested our defenses.”
A third elf chimed in, their voice thoughtful, “But the whispers… they say Dustreach is more fortified now, more desperate under this Lord Elmsworth.”
A deep voice, belonging to a Cataphractan wielding a massive, two-handed sword, interjected, “Let them come. We’ll give them a taste of Soohan steel and Cataphractan might. This dungeon is ours to explore.”
The casual confidence in their voices was palpable, a clear indication that they felt secure within Soohan territory and were more focused on the potential treasures and challenges of the dungeon than any immediate threat from the Draggor Kingdom. ProlixalParagon absorbed these observations, his mind already cataloging the distinct characteristics of the Soohan elves and Cataphractans, their apparent specializations, and their nonchalant attitude towards the political tensions he had witnessed in Dustreach. This influx of skilled individuals certainly changed the dynamic of Yendral’s Hollow, transforming the quiet border village into a temporary hub for exploration and the pursuit of forgotten lore. The presence of so many powerful individuals also subtly shifted ProlixalParagon’s own calculations. Perhaps venturing into the dungeon now, amidst this surge of interest, was indeed the most direct way to demonstrate his own capabilities and contribute something truly noteworthy to Dave.
ProlixalParagon continued his seemingly aimless wander through Yendral’s Hollow, his luminous eyes carefully observing the influx of Soohan elves and the more imposing Cataphractans. The sheer number of newcomers had transformed the quiet village into a bustling hub of anticipation, the air thick with murmured conversations about the dungeon and the distant threat of Dustreach. He noted the easy camaraderie between some of the elves, their veiled hair a uniform yet subtly individual characteristic, and the more reserved interactions of the Cataphractans, their diverse scales and horn shapes marking them as distinct individuals within the Soohan society. The topic of conversation that drifted to his sensitive ears often revolved around the dungeon’s potential rewards and the almost dismissive confidence in their ability to repel any Draggor aggression.
As ProlixalParagon paused near a communal water well, observing a group of Cataphractan mages practicing controlled bursts of arcane energy that shimmered like heat haze, a figure approached him. This elf moved with a certain crispness that set him apart from the more casually dressed adventurers. His leather armor was well-maintained, bearing subtle markings on the shoulder pauldrons that suggested rank, and the curved moonsteel blade at his hip looked recently sharpened. Like the others, a fine veil concealed his long hair, but his posture held a quiet authority.
“Greetings, traveler,” the elf said, his voice carrying a clear, resonant tone that cut through the surrounding murmur. His pointed ears flicked slightly as he spoke, and his pale eyes, sharp and assessing, met ProlixalParagon’s gaze directly. There was no hint of the wary curiosity ProlixalParagon had encountered from some of the other newcomers, but rather a focused, almost professional interest.
“My name is Seron,” the elf continued, extending a hand in a gesture that seemed both formal and genuine. “I am a newly appointed Sergeant in the Soohan Army. My unit and I arrived with the dawn. We have been tasked with utilizing the newly discovered dungeon for training exercises.”
ProlixalParagon accepted the offered hand, his own digitigrade paw fitting surprisingly comfortably within the elf’s firm grip. “Greetings, Sergeant Seron. I am called ProlixalParagon.” He offered a polite inclination of his head, his rotating ears taking in the subtle details of the sergeant’s appearance and bearing.
Seron’s grip tightened briefly before he released ProlixalParagon’s hand. “ProlixalParagon,” he repeated, the name sounding slightly foreign on his Soohan-accented tongue. “Forgive my directness, but I have heard whispers amongst the villagers. Rumors of a… unique caravan that recently arrived in Yendral’s Hollow, having traveled from the lands bordering Draggor.” His gaze held a keen intensity as he spoke, but there was a distinct lack of suspicion in his expression. Instead, ProlixalParagon detected a hint of concern.
“The Vermillion Troupe,” ProlixalParagon confirmed, his white fur, with its distinctive black swirls, perhaps contributing to the troupe’s memorable description. “Yes, we arrived a short while ago. We were… guided here.” He deliberately kept his explanation concise, wary of revealing too much about their escape from Draggor territory.
A subtle softening appeared in Seron’s sharp features. “Ah, yes. Saelith spoke of assisting a caravan in need,” he murmured, a hint of respect in his tone as he mentioned the name of the elf who had aided the Vermillion Troupe at the border. “I trust your journey was… without further incident?”
“Thanks to Saelith’s aid, we arrived safely,” ProlixalParagon replied, offering a grateful acknowledgment of the elf’s intervention. He carefully observed Seron’s reaction, noting the apparent respect the sergeant held for Saelith.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Seron nodded, his gaze briefly drifting towards the western horizon, in the direction of the Draggor border. “Please be assured, ProlixalParagon, that should the forces of Dustreach be foolish enough to attempt crossing into Soohan territory in pursuit of your troupe, my men and I will stand to the last to uphold the sanctity of our borders and the safety of those under Soohan protection.” His voice, while calm, held a firm resolve that left no room for doubt. “The Warden’s decree does not extend here.”
ProlixalParagon felt a genuine wave of gratitude wash over him. To have the explicit assurance of protection from a Soohan military unit was a welcome reassurance, especially given their recent experiences with Draggor guards. “That is… heartening to hear, Sergeant Seron,” ProlixalParagon said sincerely. “The Vermillion Troupe has endured a difficult journey, and your words offer a great comfort.”
However, he remembered Lyra’s position as the respected elder of the Vermillion Troupe. It would be inappropriate for him to accept this offer of protection as if he were the leader of their caravan.
“I appreciate your assurances deeply, Sergeant,” ProlixalParagon continued, making sure his tone conveyed respect. “But I must clarify that I am not the elder of the Vermillion Troupe. That honor belongs to Lyra. She is the guiding spirit of our caravan, and I will be sure to relay your generous offer of protection to her.”
Seron inclined his head slightly, a hint of a smile touching his lips. “My apologies for the assumption, traveler. It is heartening to see such unity within your group. Please do extend my greetings and my assurances to Elder Lyra. We are here to train, but we are also here to ensure the peace of Yendral’s Hollow and the security of all those who reside within its borders, even those who have sought refuge within our lands.” He gave ProlixalParagon a respectful nod. “May your stay in Yendral’s Hollow be peaceful, ProlixalParagon.” With that, Sergeant Seron turned and rejoined his unit, his crisp movements a testament to his military bearing, leaving ProlixalParagon to contemplate this unexpected interaction and the tangible sense of security that the Soohan sergeant’s words had provided. He knew his next task was to find Lyra and share this welcome development with her.
ProlixalParagon, having concluded his conversation with Sergeant Seron and feeling a measure of reassurance regarding the Soohan Army's stance on Draggor, made his way back towards the area where the Vermillion Troupe had settled within Yendral's Hollow. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the village green, and the air was filled with the mingled sounds of Soohan villagers and the troupe members going about their various tasks. He noted Lyra near her elaborately painted vardo, engaged in conversation with several other elder members of the troupe, their silver and red fur catching the fading light.
As he approached, the usual calm that seemed to emanate from the heart of the Vermillion Troupe appeared to be disrupted. A palpable tension hung in the air, replacing the earlier quiet industriousness. Elara, her red fur slightly disheveled, was speaking in hushed, anxious tones with Nara, her warm brown muzzle creased with worry. Other members of the troupe were casting concerned glances around the immediate vicinity.
Lyra looked up as ProlixalParagon drew near, her golden eyes, usually sharp and insightful, now carrying a distinct worry. "ProlixalParagon," she said, her voice the familiar dry, papery rasp, but with an undercurrent of concern, "we have a problem."
Before he could inquire further, Elara stepped forward, her expression distraught. "Larka is gone," she stated, her voice trembling slightly. "And... and little Vrek, the goblin boy you helped us rescue... he's not with the other children either." She wrung her paws together, her anxiety evident. "And now we've realized that one of the elven children from the village, a young one named Elion, who had been playing with our kits, is also nowhere to be seen."
ProlixalParagon's rotating ears swiveled, taking in the worried faces of the troupe members. He remembered Larka, the small Fennician with bright silver tips on her ears, whose brief disappearances had previously caused such alarm. He also recalled the five younglings they had rescued from the mercenaries. Among them was a young goblin boy, small for his age, who had clung to his sister and flinched at sudden movements – Vrek. ProlixalParagon distinctly remembered the scene of the rescued children huddling together, their wide eyes reflecting fear and uncertainty. He also recalled, though less vividly, the goblin child’s forehead bearing a faint, dark marking that had briefly piqued his curiosity. The realization that these vulnerable children, along with a child from the seemingly safe village of Yendral's Hollow, were now missing sent a ripple of concern through him.
"When did you last see them?" ProlixalParagon asked, his voice carrying a note of calm amidst the surrounding anxiety.
Nara stepped forward, her brow furrowed. "The children were playing together near the edge of the stream, just beyond our wagons. That was perhaps an hour ago. One of the younger goblins went to fetch them for the evening meal and discovered they were all gone."
"Did they mention where they might be going?" ProlixalParagon inquired, his mind already considering potential scenarios. Had they simply wandered off in their play, or could something more concerning have occurred? The presence of the Soohan Army and the talk of the newly discovered dungeon added another layer of uncertainty.
Lyra leaned heavily on her gnarled staff, her golden gaze fixed on the surrounding area. "No, they did not. Larka has a curious spirit and a tendency to wander. Vrek has been quieter, still somewhat wary, but he had started to interact more with the other children. For all three to be gone together... it is unsettling." She looked directly at ProlixalParagon, a plea in her ancient eyes. "You have a keen eye, young one, and you found Larka before in the desert. Would you be willing to help us find them? The sun will set soon, and the Hollow, while seemingly peaceful, is still unfamiliar territory, especially for young ones."
Elara's voice was filled with desperation. "Please, ProlixalParagon. Larka... she's so small. And Vrek... he's been through so much already. We can't bear to lose them now."
ProlixalParagon felt a familiar tug of responsibility towards the Vermillion Troupe, a bond that had formed through shared hardships and their open acceptance of him. He thought of the spectral tinkerer's quest and the ongoing mysteries of Ludere Online, but the immediate concern for the safety of the children took precedence. His inherent curiosity and the "Lunar Reflexes" he possessed might indeed prove helpful in locating the missing children.
"Of course, Lyra, Elara," ProlixalParagon replied without hesitation. "I will do everything I can to find them. Tell me everything you know about where they were last seen and if they had any particular interests or mentioned any places they wanted to explore." He knew that time was of the essence, and with the day wearing on dusk would soon be approaching, the search would become more challenging. He prepared himself to once again use his senses and any skills he possessed to ensure the safe return of the missing children. As he sped towards where they were last seen Marx silently joined.
ProlixalParagon, immediately began to assess the situation. He knelt near the stream bank, the location Nara had indicated as the children's last known whereabouts. The ground here was soft and muddy in places, and he carefully scanned for any small footprints – the delicate tracery of elven feet, the slightly broader prints of a young Fennician, and the distinctive six-toed marks that would belong to the goblin boy, Vrek. His rotating ears swiveled, attempting to catch any faint sounds – a giggle carried on the breeze, the rustling of small bodies moving through undergrowth, even a distressed cry. He remembered Vrek’s initial shyness and fear after the rescue, making it less likely the goblin boy would venture far on his own, unless perhaps drawn by the more adventurous Larka or the elven child.
As ProlixalParagon began to follow the stream bank, moving upstream and carefully examining the foliage along the edge, he felt a presence at his side. Marx, the human woodcarver, his weathered olive complexioned skin showing a deep line of concern across his brow, had joined him. He leaned slightly on his newly crafted crutch, his mana-powered prosthetic leg moving with a steady purpose, his single hazel eye sharp as it scanned the surrounding area.
"Anything, fox?" Marx rumbled, his voice low and carrying a hint of the gruffness that often masked his deeper emotions. He had witnessed the rescue of Vrek and the other children, and ProlixalParagon sensed a protective instinct in the older goblin.
"Not yet," ProlixalParagon replied, his voice a low rasp. "Just looking for tracks. The ground is disturbed here, but it's difficult to distinguish individual prints with so many playing earlier."
A moment later, the silent grace of Ralyria’s movement announced her arrival. Her pale, elegant features, usually impassive, held a subtle air of focused intent as her luminous eyes surveyed the surroundings. The faint whirring of her internal mechanisms was almost imperceptible as she moved with an economy of motion that no living being could truly replicate.
"Lyra asked that I assist," Ralyria stated, her voice a soft, even tone. "My optical sensors can filter the ambient light, potentially revealing subtle disturbances in the undergrowth or discarded items." Her mana-powered senses might also detect any unusual energy signatures, although ProlixalParagon doubted that would be relevant in a simple case of wandering children.
The three of them spread out slightly, moving in a loose formation along the stream. ProlixalParagon focused on the ground and any faint sounds, while Marx used his experience and keen eye to scan for broken branches or other signs of passage. Ralyria moved with a methodical precision, her gaze sweeping through the foliage, occasionally pausing to examine a particular area more closely.
"Larka has a curiosity about small creatures," ProlixalParagon mused aloud, recalling Elara's words. "She might have followed a lizard or an insect further than she intended." He remembered the bright silver tips on the young Fennician’s ears, a distinctive feature to watch for.
Marx grunted in agreement. "And young 'uns can get turned around quicker than a desert wind shifts. Especially when they're all excited playing together." He paused, his gaze fixed on a patch of slightly flattened grass leading away from the stream. "Looks like more than just running about happened here." He pointed with a gnarled finger. "See how the grass is pressed down in that direction? Like something was dragged, or several small feet went that way in a hurry."
Ralyria moved to examine the flattened area. "The impressions are consistent with small, lightweight forms. There are multiple sets of prints, suggesting the children moved together in this direction." Her head tilted slightly as she scanned further. "The trail leads towards the edge of the woods."
A sliver of unease ran through ProlixalParagon. While it was plausible the children had simply ventured into the trees in their play, the proximity of the newly discovered dungeon entrance, mentioned by Saelith, lingered in his thoughts. He hadn't been given a precise location, only that it was in the hills just west of the village. The woods bordering Yendral's Hollow could potentially lead towards that area.
"We should be cautious," ProlixalParagon said to Marx and Ralyria. "We don't know the extent of these woods or if there are any hidden dangers." He glanced back towards the troupe's encampment, noticing several other members now beginning to join the search, their worried faces illuminated by the last rays of the setting sun. Lyra stood near her vardo, her silver fur gleaming, her golden eyes fixed on the treeline with evident concern.
"Elion, the elven child, he's a quiet one," ProlixalParagon recalled Elara mentioning. "He might have been drawn along by Larka's adventurous spirit." He worried about Vrek, who was still recovering from his ordeal and might be easily frightened or lost if separated from the others.
The trio continued to follow the faint trail into the edge of the woods. The trees here were sparse at first, but quickly grew denser, casting long, distorted shadows that danced in the fading light. The air grew cooler and carried the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. The sounds of the village and the troupe's encampment began to fade, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the chirping of unseen insects.
"Keep your senses sharp," ProlixalParagon murmured. "Listen for any calls, any signs of distress." His own glowing eyes scanned the deepening shadows, while Ralyria’s enhanced vision would be invaluable in spotting anything that might escape natural sight. Marx, despite his dwindling reliance on a crutch still unaccustomed to the prosthetic leg, moved with surprising agility, his experience in navigating rough terrain evident in his careful steps.
The search for the missing children had begun in earnest, the peaceful tranquility of Yendral's Hollow now tinged with a growing sense of urgency and concern. Soon the approaching darkness would add another layer of challenge, but ProlixalParagon was determined to find Larka, Vrek, and Elion and return them safely to the worried members of the Vermillion Troupe.
As the last slivers of daylight bled from the western sky, painting the forest canopy in shades of bruised purple and deep indigo, a collective sigh of relief escaped ProlixalParagon, Marx, and Ralyria. The faint giggles they had been following had finally led them to a small hollow, nestled between the roots of an ancient oak. There, amidst the deepening shadows, were Larka, Elion, and Vrek, their initial anxiety at being lost now replaced by the flushed excitement of a successful hiding game.
Larka, the young Fennician with the distinctive silver tips on her ears, peeked out from behind a thicket of ferns, her bushy tail giving a tell-tale twitch. Elion, the quiet elven child, was perched silently in the lower branches of the oak, his slender form almost invisible against the bark. And little Vrek, the goblin boy, was squeezed tightly behind a cluster of moss-covered stones, his large, multifaceted eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and sheepishness at being discovered.
"Found you!" Larka exclaimed, her voice a little breathless but full of triumph, as she darted out from her hiding spot. Elion gracefully descended from the tree, a faint smile gracing his delicate features. Vrek, more hesitant, slowly emerged from behind the stones, clutching a handful of fallen leaves.
"You rascals!" Marx rumbled, a hint of a smile softening the gruff lines of his face. He leaned on his crutch, his gaze sweeping over the three children with evident relief. "We were starting to think you'd wandered off to the moon!"
Ralyria, her pale metal form still and graceful, tilted her head slightly. "Your vital signs indicate a state of mild exertion and slight dehydration, consistent with prolonged physical activity. No apparent injuries detected." Her assessment, while clinical, carried an underlying tone of reassurance.
ProlixalParagon knelt, his glowing eyes ensuring he could see them clearly in the dimming light. "Elara and the others will be very glad we found you safe," he said, his voice a low rasp of relief. "It's getting late now. We should head back to Yendral's Hollow."
As they gathered the children, preparing to lead them back through the darkening woods, a new figure emerged from the trees, his silhouette tall and somewhat familiar against the last vestiges of twilight.
"ProlixalParagon! Marx! Have you found them?" Seron's voice carried a note of concern as he approached, his brow furrowed. "I heard they were missing and wanted to offer my help."
Seron was a frequent visitor to Yendral's Hollow, often trading goods and sharing news from the wider region. He was generally well-regarded by the Vermillion Troupe, known for his even temper and willingness to lend a hand.
"Yes, Seron, we found them just now," ProlixalParagon replied, gesturing towards the three children who were now huddled a little closer to Marx. "They were playing hide-and-seek and simply went further than they intended."
"Thank the stars," Seron sighed, his expression visibly relaxing. He offered a reassuring smile to Larka and Elion. "You gave everyone quite a scare, you two."
Then, his gaze fell upon Vrek, who was standing slightly behind Marx, his six-fingered hand clutching the older goblin's tunic. Seron's smile faltered. His steps slowed, and his attention became entirely fixed on the small goblin boy.
His casual demeanor vanished, replaced by an intense, almost unnerving stare. His eyes narrowed, and he seemed oblivious to the others as his gaze locked onto Vrek's forehead. The faint, dark marking that ProlixalParagon had briefly noted earlier, now more visible in the fading light, seemed to have captivated Seron entirely.
A hush fell over the small group. Larka and Elion exchanged curious glances, while Marx shifted uncomfortably, placing a protective hand on Vrek's small shoulder. The goblin boy himself, sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere and the intensity of Seron's gaze, flinched and burrowed slightly behind Marx, his large, multifaceted eyes wide with apprehension, mirroring the fear he had shown during his initial rescue.
Seron remained silent, his lips slightly parted, his eyes unblinking as he continued to stare at the mark on Vrek's forehead. The late evening air, previously filled with the relief of finding the children, now crackled with an unspoken tension, the mystery of Seron's reaction hanging heavy in the twilight.
“Give him to me”
