Satyr’s Children | Book 1: Siren
The Polaris Trailblazers’ Guild in the Northwatch was a grand structure of stone and timber. This fortress, built with function above all else, had exterior walls of massive gray-white stone, scarred by years of frost and weathering and stained with the dark marks of time. It had few windows, most of them narrow and tall, like watch posts that never stopped keeping vigil. Heavy, sturdy, weather-beaten—the heart of the Northwatch was covered in scars, yet even now, it continued to beat.
When Triton returned to the Guild’s main hall, a strange sensation of familiarity mixed with unfamiliarity wrapped around him. The air still carried the coarse mingled scents of sweat, ale, metal, and the faint tang of blood. Only now, with his right face still wrapped in bandages, there was an added trace of herbal fragrance drifting into his nostrils.
He lifted his head slightly and looked through the bustling crowd in the mission hall. Beneath the high vaulted ceiling, a massive magical crystal display tirelessly scrolled through streams of mission information, its shifting colors illuminating all kinds of faces—parties returning from the field, newcomers gearing themselves up for departure, and others like himself and Ali, carrying injuries that had yet to heal, temporarily standing apart as observers from the surging current of activity.
David and Solin sent the children to the foot of the first-floor staircase, then stopped.
“Go on.” David rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Talk to her on your own terms.”
Solin carefully straightened her daughter’s collar, “We’ll be waiting here.”
With his parents leaving the matter of what to do with his broken horn entirely in his hands, Triton had no choice but to begin to learn to act like an adult and arrange the first formal negotiation of his life. The Guild school had never taught him anything like this. Most commoner Trailblazer families could give their children little more than the most basic lessons in greeting and etiquette. Even the parents probably could not name all the different pieces of tableware laid out at a banquet themselves.
Meeting Claret Morningdew at the Guild had been Ali’s idea. At first, Triton had intended to visit the young lady at the Morningdew estate. His sister had rejected the idea with extraordinary vehemence—despite being unable to raise her voice, she had made her objections abundantly clear through an impressive array of gestures:
Why should you? Why should you be the one to run to her and make it look as though you’ve been “summoned”? We are not retainers of House Morningdew. We have no obligation to grovel at her doorstep. If there’s something to discuss, then discuss it at the Guild. Aren’t the problems of the Northwatch supposed to be settled here?
She was right. The Trailblazers’ Guild was the most neutral and formal setting for both sides, and the one best suited to preserving at least the appearance of equality. It was familiar territory for the Featherflights, offering a small measure of the reassurance that came with being on home ground and sparing them the intangible pressure of stepping onto noble territory. Here, the gulf created by their different status could at least be blurred.
“… It’s better for Miss Claret, too,” Ali added after a moment’s thought. “Just think about it: how awful it would look like if people started saying she’d summoned House Featherflight to the estate just to pressure them.”
She never asked Triton whether she would be going with him. There was no need. This was the one thing for certain in this negotiation.
They climbed the broad stone spiral staircase leading to the second floor, the noise of the main hall gradually fading below them. Compared with the din of the first floor, the Guild’s administrative wing on the second floor was strikingly more quiet and solemn. Thick carpets swallowed the sound of their footsteps, while portraits of Guildmasters from generations past and enormous skulls of legendary monsters adorned the walls, commemorating the glory of Trailblazer history.
Now, only the twins remained.
Triton was wearing a heavy indigo cotton shirt with white cross-shaped stars embroidered at the collar—the best shirt he could find in his wardrobe, most likely. The cuffs had already begun to fray, but otherwise it was reasonably neat, carrying the clean, gentle scent of the insect-repellent sachet his mother made from rosemary and bay leaves. For trousers, he chose his usual pair: dark, dirt-resistant, soft, and easy to move in, secured at the waist by a belt with many buckles.
He had done his best. But with half his face covered in bandages and his hair looking disheveled no matter how hard he tried to tame it, he still looked more like an ill-presented wounded soldier than someone about to attend a formal negotiation.
So he decided to keep wearing the arm bracers that concealed his curved blades. His mother seemed to think bringing weapons into a negotiation was a poor idea. But with Ali’s support, Triton had strapped them back onto his arms anyway. He needed to hold on to anything that could make him feel like a warrior rather than a patient. It was the last scrap of self-esteem he had left.
He looked at Ali.
Today, his sister had chosen a knee-length moss-green linen dress with a clean, practical cut. It lacked the ornate splendor of a noblewoman’s gown, but it was a style he rarely saw her wear.
The bandages around Ali’s neck had been replaced with a fresh strip. They no longer completely prevented her from speaking, though she could manage only brief conversations and still had to keep her voice down as much as possible.
Like her brother, she had also brought her hexagonal lantern mace, the one set with a green crystal. She carefully strapped it to her back, positioned it within an easy reach, just as she did when heading out on a Trailblazer mission.
As agreed, they made their way toward a private office at the far end of the corridor. Yet with more than a dozen steps still between them and the door, the twins froze in unison.
Two figures stood silently in the corridor outside the office. They wore leather armor much like that of ordinary Trailblazers, yet their hair was neatly kept and the soles of their boots utterly free of the wear and grime of travel. There was something unnaturally still about them, a rock-solid composure coming from rigorous training.
The instant Triton and Ali appeared, both men’s eyes snapped toward them, sharp and focused like a pair of hawks spotting their prey in the snow.
Morningdew bodyguards.
Triton felt Ali tense beside him. She moved a step closer, the green sleeve of her dress brushing against his leather-and-metal-covered arm.
The two of them had come alone. The other party, meanwhile, had clearly prepared in advance—so much so that they had even brought guards.
For a moment, the two sides simply stood there in silence. Then one of the bodyguards seemed to receive some instruction through some way too subtle for Triton to perceive. He turned his head and exchanged a glance with his teammate. The two men then inclined their heads politely toward Triton and Ali before walking past them side by side and heading downstairs without a word.
The corridor returned to its former emptiness and silence, but the uneasy sensation of being watched remained stubbornly clinging to Triton and Ali’s skin like a spider’s web.
“… Looks like she’s already here,” Triton murmured.
It made sense that they had stationed additional security here, he thought. Bert had been killed in the Guild district after all. The Morningdews could hardly be too cautious.
“Let’s go.” Ali touched his fingers.
“Yeah… let’s.” Triton drew a deep breath, took his sister’s hand, and gently knocked on the office door.
“Come in, please.” Claret Morningdew’s voice came from inside, just as clear and pleasant as Triton remembered.
The door closed behind them with a soft click, cutting off the last traces of noise from outside.
The room was more spacious than they had imagined. Its walls were bare limestone-gray, devoid of decorative tapestries, maps, or any other ornamentation. Apart from a heavy wooden table in the center, three chairs arranged around it, and a sole side table in the corner for holding belongings, there was nothing else. Sunlight slanted in through the single tall window, casting a bright yet strangely cold line of light across the dusty floor. Countless motes drifted silently through the beam.
At the center of that bleak emptiness sat Claret Morningdew alone.
She looked like a carefully preserved porcelain doll, yet temporarily forgotten at the back of some enormous cabinet—delicate, fragile, and utterly at odds with the rough surroundings.
Most striking of all was her hair.
Her long hair, braided into two plaits, was a pinkish violet stained with orchid juice, an unnaturally beautiful color with an unmistakable medicinal quality to it. It was said that she had suffered from a serious illness as a child, and that prolonged medicinal baths had permanently transformed her original platinum-blond hair into this peculiar hue.
At the sound of their entrance, she lifted her head.
The moment Triton met Claret’s gaze, he almost stopped breathing.
Her eyes were bright as honeyed dew, a rich golden amber identical to those of her late brother, Bert. But unlike Bert’s warm, smiley eyes, hers held a silence and sorrow far beyond her years.
“Good day, Mr. Triton. Miss Aliferous.”
Her two long pink braids fell smoothly down her back, swaying gently as she rose to greet them. She wore a plain dark-blue dress with fitted sleeves, its design simple and unadorned, without elaborate lace or delicate embroidery. Black silk wound around her cuffs and throat. A black hairpin rested among her braids, while tiny black gemstones adorned her earlobes.
She was in mourning for Bert.
There was no smile on Claret’s face, but neither was there the slightest trace of arrogance or impatience. She simply looked at the twins with polite sorrow, hollow and distant, like an echo left behind by her brother.
“Good day, Miss Claret.” Triton returned the greeting somewhat stiffly, while Ali silently inclined her head beside him. “I’m sorry about Bert… I met him once. He was a good man.”
Claret gave him a small nod.
The three of them took their seats. After a brief silence, Triton spoke.
“Miss Claret, thank you for your kindness, and for Sir Argentum’s as well. I… am willing to give you my broken horn in exchange for the ‘Primordial Growth Factor.’”
The directness of his opening seemed to catch Claret slightly off guard. Her slender fingers, covered in black silk gloves, folded together on the tabletop. She did not answer immediately.
“But before I give it to you…” Triton swallowed and continued. “I want to know… why? Why do you want it in the first place? And what exactly is this ‘Primordial Growth Factor’ you mentioned to my parents?”
“Mr. Triton…” Claret raised her gaze to meet his. Her voice was light and soft. “Do you recall the ‘birdman’… and that… undying ‘antlered man’?”
Triton’s heart tightened. Beside him, Ali’s breathing grew heavier.
“I noticed that after you were gravely injured and knocked down, the ‘birdman,’ who can manipulate corruption, appeared almost immediately and sheltered you beneath its… ‘wings.’ Later, before the terrifyingly regenerative ‘antlered man’ fled, it also seemed to say something to you. However I’m afraid I was too far away to catch what he said.”
Claret leaned forward slightly. A shorter strand of pink hair slipped from her temple and fell over her shoulder.
“The danger posed by these two entities far exceeds what we currently understand. I cannot say whether they are connected to the appearance of ‘my brother,’ but both of them, independently, showed a particular… interest in you. So I suspect there may be something unusual about you—perhaps something in your blood, or some kind of scent or presence that we are unable to perceive, or perhaps even some connection between you and them.”
“Since your broken horn used to be a part of your body, it carries your biological signature. I hope that by studying it, we may find some clues. This is not merely about unraveling the mystery surrounding you. It concerns the safety of the Northwatch, and perhaps even the safety of Halcyon.”
Her eyes fell to Triton’s bandaged face.
“Yet… I must have your consent for that.”
“As for the ‘Primordial Growth Factor’…” She continued. “Its principal ingredient comes from the shed casing of Sir Argentum’s tail stinger. It is a crystallization of the life essence of the Serket race, containing the very law of ‘regeneration.’ To restore your horn perfectly, we would need only about one gram, and there would be no side effects.”
“Sir Argentum can provide, at most, nine complete sets of tail-stinger casings in his entire lifetime. One complete set used as medicine is said to possess the power to reverse life and death.”
Triton heard his sister draw a sharp breath.
So that was the “cost.”
“… I see.” Triton muttered. Then, as though unfastening a saber from his waist, he took the white, curved horn wrapped carefully in flannel from his belt.
“You may have my horn.” He placed the broken horn on the tabletop. His fingertips felt the softness of the fabric and the hardness of the object beneath it at the same time, the sensation filled him with an uncanny sense of unfamiliarity.
“But, Miss Claret, I have one request… or rather, a proposal.”
“Please, do tell.”
“Concerning the investigation into ‘Ghost Bert’ and these two anomalies, please let me… let us continue to take part.” Triton glanced at Ali. Her brow was furrowed, but she nodded anyway.
“I know the mission brief only has my parents’ names on it. But I’m the one who was the closest. I heard the antlered man muttering something I couldn’t make sense of, and I even saw the ‘mist-woman’ beside the ‘birdman’…”
He paused.
“By the way, do you know about the ‘mist-woman’?”
He did not tell Claret that the antlered man had mentioned his mother’s name. Yet he somehow had a feeling that, apart from himself and Ali, who had been closest to the “birdman” at the time, no one else present had noticed the “mist-woman” beneath his wings.
“Alas… was there a third anomaly present?” Claret bit her lip almost imperceptibly. “Mr. David’s report made no mention of the ‘mist-woman’ you just described…”
He guessed it right.
“Taking my horn for research is one thing. But if we truly want to solve this mystery, I’m afraid we can’t do it without investigating further into the scene. And I… I would like to keep up with it. Not only to complete the mission, but to understand why these strange entities have sought us out, and what exactly is happening. This concerns Bert’s peace, along with the safety of everyone who ventures into the Forbidden Zone.”
Claret watched him in silence, seemingly weighing his words. Once again, time seemed to slow within the empty room.
“… I cannot formally employ you on behalf of my family. That would violate the Guild’s regulations.” After a long pause, Claret spoke again.
“But your observations and assistance, as well as Miss Aliferous’s, will be important in clarification of truth. I will convey your wishes, along with the information you have provided concerning the ‘antlered man,’ the ‘birdman,’ and the ‘mist-woman,’ to Sir Argentum and my father. I will also ask Sir Argentum to compile the complete information regarding the ‘Primordial Growth Factor’ as soon as possible and deliver it to you and your family…”
“Beyond that… until you have received the ‘Primordial Growth Factor’ and fully recovered, all further investigations must be conducted with your safety as the foremost priority. Please, you must promise me that.”
She paused, then lowered her eyes and added quietly, “And please… be careful. I don’t want to see you hurt again.”
Triton’s hands stopped halfway through pushing the flannel-wrapped broken horn toward Claret. A strange wave of warmth rushed to his face, burning the tips of his ears bright red.
… She doesn’t want to see me hurt again?
Before he could make sense of what those words meant, the pink-haired girl rose from her chair and leaned against the edge of the table, holding out a small crystal vial sealed carefully with runes and wax.
The liquid inside shimmered with iridescent colors, flowing and separating like living mercury. Its shifting surface clearly reflected her doll-like, delicate features, now with a touch of inexplicable sadness.
“Please, Mr. Triton…” Claret’s voice grew softer and softer, until she was almost begging him to give her a promise. “Please…”
Not sure how to respond to that, Triton lifted his chin slightly, but he did not dare meet the girl’s eyes properly across the table, though he bet she wasn’t looking at him either.
What’s going on with her?
He had no idea. But a powerful instinct told him that she was on the verge of tears.
“All right…” Triton swallowed and added softly, “I promise you, Miss Claret.”
Nothing that happened afterward left any particularly vivid impression on Triton’s memory. He could not remember how he had said goodbye to Claret, how he had led his sister out of that lifeless office, how they had found their waiting parents amid the bustling crowd in the main hall, or how they had eventually made their way home.
By the time he fully came to his senses, he was already sprawled flat on his back across the bed in his room.
Eh, well, it was Ali’s room too.
Until they were twelve, the siblings had shared this spacious room by squeezing together on a bunk bed. It was only after their body had begun to mature that their parents finally separated the beds and set up a folding screen in the middle of the room, dividing it into two private spaces.
Triton turned his head and noticed Ali sitting beside his bed.
“Ali, what do you think… of Miss Claret?”
Ali whipped her head around. Fire blaze in her mint-green eyes.
“You. Still. Have. The. Nerve. To. Ask?”
She silently mouthed the words in accusation, then leaned over and jabbed him hard in the chest with one finger, each poke carrying the full force of her indignation.
“You! Still! Have! The! Nerve! To! Ask!?”
“I… why can’t I ask?” stumbled Triton, utterly bewildered by his sister’s vehement reaction.
“Oh, of course you can ask.” Ali folded her arms and let out a cold laugh. “Let me set this straight with you: She. Is. Very. Very. Smart.”
She tilted her head, her eyes sharp, as if asking: Well? Do you get it now?
… He absolutely did not.
Triton blinked in confusion with his one good eye.
Ali rolled her eyes, hard.
“She effortlessly used ‘research’ and ‘safety’ as excuses to take your horn right then and there! And she even got you to willingly agree to keep working yourself to the bone for her family! She saw straight through that little bit of curiosity of yours, along with your stupidly soft heart! And she used every last bit of it! Every single thing she said fit together so perfectly that you couldn’t find a single reason to argue back, but that’s exactly what makes it suspicious—”
The runic bandages around her neck glimmered faintly, and like a bucket of cold water dumped over her head, they forcibly strangled the rest of Ali’s tirade in her throat.
“But she really did just lose her brother,” Triton seized the brief opening to retort. “Her grief didn’t seem fake. And she’s trying to find out the truth, too. She told me everything I wanted to know. She didn’t lie to me at all…”
“Ugh! You are… hopeless!” Frustrated, Ali tugged at the restraints around her neck. Gritting her teeth with all the strength she had as she forced the words out:
“I’m telling you to… watch out for her! You… idiot!”
With that, she shot him one last furious glare, stood up, and shoved the folding screen in the middle of the room aside. Then, with a loud clatter, she dragged it firmly shut behind her, cutting him off from view.
… Didn’t you say that you will support me no matter what I choose?
Triton looked aggrievedly at the violently trembling folding screen.
It was true that he had not told Ali beforehand that he had decided to hand over his horn. But did she really think he had brought the horn there just for show? Did she think he had been so bewitched by Claret that he had suddenly changed his mind and made the deal on the spot?
Besides, wasn’t relying on House Morningdew’s power the fastest way for them to uncover the truth? That “antlered man” had mentioned their mother. How were they supposed to find any clues in the vast Forbidden Zone on their own? But House Morningdew had the finest resources in the Northwatch. They had someone as powerful as Sir Argentum. They also had information networks reaching the royal capital and countless other places. Giving them his horn in exchange for access to those resources and permission to continue the investigation was more than just a single transaction.
It was an opportunity. An opportunity to find out what connection their mother had to these strange, terrifying beings.
Triton brooded silently.
He understood why Ali distrusted the nobles. He understood why she was afraid of that mysterious potion, and he knew better than anyone how much she hated seeing him become entangled with House Morningdew again. He understood every bit of her anger and every bit of her worry.
But now, the deed was done. She knew she could no longer stop him. So all she could do was keep a close eye on him—and, at the same time, keep a close eye on that pink-haired young lady who looked so fragile and spoke with such impeccable reasoning.
In her own way, Ali was protecting her “idiot” brother.
And the secret they shared.
