The Old Lady smiled at the two, "I am surprised both of you kids' memories extend back to your infant years.
Tristan let out an awkward laugh, scratching the back of his head.
"Oh—no, no… nothing like that," he said quickly. "I just remember seeing you a few weeks ago. There was a whole entourage around you—people dressed like temple priests. I didn't know you were the Matriarch back then."
Aric didn't speak immediately.
His gaze remained fixed on her.
"I have a… faint memory," he said slowly.
Then she looked past them, toward the courtyard they had just left. "Poor youngin' Krod suffered ten lashes today. His grandfather had called me before his due punishment. Had to heal the young lad to make sure he didn't suffer any scars."
She looked at Aric, walking closer, she placed her hand on Aric's shoulder, A warm feeling passed through him. Aric stiffened as the pain in his ribs dulled. The throbbing around his eye lessened. He could feel the torn skin knitting itself back together. He stared at her.
"…What?"
The Matriarch exhaled, withdrawing her hand.
"Sadly," she said, "this is the limit of what tis' old hag can manage."
She flexed her fingers slightly.
"Doesn't help that I'm the only one in this Thorp who can use Animus," she added. "And even then, it was never my strong suit compared to the conduit."
Aric blinked.
'Animus'
Unfamiliar word.
The old woman turned to Tristan next, taking his smaller hand in hers. A faint glow pulsed, and the redness around his fingers—where splinters had embedded earlier—began to fade. The swelling reduced almost instantly.
"There now," she muttered.
Tristan flexed his fingers in amazement.
"Yer' lucky bunch. I normally charge good rallods for tis'."
She looked at the distance, "That youngin'– Lilia. I can't help but pity her."
Tristan frowned, "What do you mean by that?"
The Matriarch looked at Tristan with a solemn face. "Ye really want to know, boy?" Before Tristan could respond, she turned to Aric, "I'm talking about yer' mother's past youngin'."
Aric's eyes widened.
***
Aric and Tristan walked in silence.
The road stretched ahead of them, quiet except for the occasional crunch of gravel beneath their feet. Neither of them spoke for a while.
The Matriarch's words lingered.
Aric couldn't say it was the prettiest of truths. "How could she even tell that to children like it was nothing!" Tristan exclaimed.
Aric didn't answer. He simply kicked a stray stone along the path, watching it bounce and skid ahead of him.
The conversation replayed in his mind.
"She could've lived a much better life… if she had just let go of that integrity."
Aric bit his lip.
Hard.
Lilia didn't deserve that.She didn't deserve any of it.
"Aric," Tristan said after a while, his voice softer now. "We're here."
Aric lifted his head as a mansion came into view. But as they approached, something felt off.
Aric slowed, his brows furrowing.
"…Something's wrong."
Tristan looked around, confused. "What do you mean?"
Aric's eyes scanned the front yard carefully. "The decorations," he said. "They're gone."
The garden, usually filled with arranged ornaments, carved fixtures, and polished gnomes, looked… stripped.
Tristan blinked, then looked again.
"…You're right."
They reached the front door as Aric knocked.
The door creaked open.
Both of them instantly went deadpan, stepping aside without another word as a figure came flying out.
A girl—around sixteen—launched herself forward with reckless momentum. Aric moved routinely, catching her by the collar before she could crash face-first into the ground.
She dangled there for a second.
"Aw…" she sighed dramatically. "Guess I didn't get you this time either."
Aric glanced at her.
"…After I turned six, you haven't caught me once, Elara—"
He stopped. Tristan's face had gone pale. Aric frowned slightly and looked down.
The "girl" in his hand… was a mannequin.
"…I'm here, boys."
The voice came from behind.
Too late.
A hand clamped onto Aric's shoulder. It was too strong. Far too strong. His body tensed instantly as he turned.
"Elara?!"
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
The person standing before him… was familiar and completely unfamiliar at the same time.
The girl he remembered—the one with dark hair and eyes— was gone. In her place stood someone else.
With bright orange hair and striking blue eyes, she looked like someone else entirely.
Even her face structure had changed, though not dramatically, fixing any imperfections on her face. Tristan jaw dropped, "How?!" Elara flicked her long orange hair, "Hehe.. don't I look stunning?!" Tristan nodded in awe, "I don't think it's possible for you to look 'stunning' but it is definitely different."
–BONK!
Tristan held his head in pain as he looked at Aric, "Be careful!" he groaned. "The witch's punches got stronger!"
Elara flared her nostrils proudly. "Naturally! I've awakened my conduit, after all!"
Aric blinked.
That explained it.
Elvis had mentioned this phenomenon before—Thaumaturgical Metamorphosis, or TM. When a mage awakens their conduit, their physical appearance changes due to the structural changes imposed by the conduit.
That meant… "You are a mage now?" Aric blurted. Elara placed her hands on her hips, chin lifting slightly.
"Obviously. My parents are mages. Grandpa's a mage. Why wouldn't I be?"
Before Aric could respond, the butler cleared his throat quietly from the doorway.
"Lady Elara… perhaps you could invite the guests inside if you intend to continue this conversation."
Elara, realising that they were still standing at the entrance, laughed awkwardly, walking in. "Come in kiddos!"
Tristan scowled, "She out of everyone does not have the right to call me that." Aric sighed, walking in, 'Of course, I have never seen someone as immature as her."
As they walked, Aric noticed the missing furniture all around. Elara turned back toward them as they walked.
"Why are you guys here so late anyway?" she asked. Then her eyes landed on Aric's face. "And more importantly—why does Aric look like he fell from a carriage?"
Aric's eye twitched.
Even after the Matriarch's healing, the bruises hadn't fully faded.
"It was worse an hour ago," Tristan said casually. "Aric punched Krod and got lElarad for it."
Elara's brows lifted slightly.
"And the reason we're here in the night…" Tristan added, hesitating, "Nessa and Mom got into a fight."
Elara's expression dimmed.
"…Someone's having a bad day."
"Yeah," Aric said quietly. "Really bad."
A voice drifted down from above.
"Is that why Nessa isn't with you?"
Aric looked up.
Leaning casually against the railing of the second floor stood Elian.
He had the same black hair and eyes. It seems he was yet to awaken his conduit. Aric gave a small nod as they began heading up the stairs.
"So…" Aric said, glancing around again, "what's with all the missing furniture?"
Elara paused mid-step.
"Oh. Right. That."
She turned back to them with a bright, almost too casual smile.
"I guess we're leaving."
Tristan frowned.
"…What?"
Elian pushed himself off the railing and stepped closer, looking down at them.
"We're moving," he said plainly. "Leaving Durvarn."
Aric's steps halted.