Chapter 247: Almost Never

The young woman stood five paces away on the sunlit cobblestones, her hazel eyes studying Evren and Zephyra with suspicion. Her fingers rested lightly against the strap of her herbalist satchel, her posture poised to dart into the crowded alleys at the first sign of danger.

"You two do not look like traveling merchants," she said quietly. "People who drive military-plated transports through Eagle Gorge do not come all the way to Oakhaven to buy dried mushrooms."

Evren offered a polite, disarming smile and kept his hands resting casually in his jacket pockets. "We are simply travelers from the north who appreciate rare botanical talent."

"My grandfather does not possess any talent that concerns the Capital," she countered, narrowing her eyes as she glanced toward their concealed weapons. "He came to this valley to live in peace, and strangers asking about his real name usually bring trouble."

Zephyra stepped slightly forward. "If we intended to use force, we would not be standing in a public market asking fruit vendors for directions."

"And if you are imperial enforcers or provincial bounty hunters, you would say the exact same thing," the young woman retorted without flinching. "Tell me why you are really here, or you can turn your rig around and drive back through the gorge."

Evren admired her protective instinct. It took genuine courage for an unranked herbalist to stand her ground against two high-tier awakeners.

"I understand your suspicion," Evren said in a calm, sincere tone. "But I did not come to collect a bounty, nor do I serve the Imperial Council. I came to Oakhaven because thirty-four years ago, your grandfather was right about the dimensional rifts, and the council in the Capital were dead wrong."

The young woman froze, a flicker of genuine shock crossing her features.

In Oakhaven, the locals viewed her grandfather as a harmless, eccentric hermit who talked to glowing ferns and threw apples at noisy woodcutters. Never in her entire life had she heard an outsider claim that her grandfather’s strange theories were correct.

"You really believe that?" she asked, searching Evren’s face for any hint of deceit.

"I know it for a fact," Evren replied smoothly. "And I came to ask him questions that only he can answer."

She hesitated for several seconds, weighing the stranger’s words against the quiet authority he radiated. Finally, she let out a slow breath and adjusted the strap of her foraging satchel.

"If you are lying to me, you will regret it," she warned, turning on her heel toward the northern side of the square. "The path to his cottage is not welcoming to uninvited guests. Follow me, and stay on the stones."

Evren fell into step beside her. "I’m Evren, and this is Zephyra. What should we call our guide?"

"Petal," she answered after a cautious pause, keeping her gaze forward. "And if you try anything reckless on the trail, Evren, you will find out firsthand how dangerous wild mountain flora can be."

Evren and Zephyra followed behind Petal as she led them out of the market plaza. They crossed a narrow wooden bridge over a rushing mountain creek, leaving the rustic stone buildings of the settlement behind.

The trail wound past an ancient moss-covered waterwheel, climbing steeply into a dense forest of towering redwoods and fragrant alpine pines. As they ascended, the cheerful sounds of the village faded, replaced by the rush of mountain winds and the distant rumble of waterfalls.

After twenty minutes of steady hiking, the pine trees grew thicker, casting long, dark shadows across the damp earth. The mountain mist drifted down from the upper peaks in cool, swirling ribbons that chilled the air.

’Are you certain we should trust this girl, boss?’ Zephyra’s cool voice resonated directly inside Evren’s mind through their soul-bond. ’Leading armed strangers into an isolated forest is textbook strategy for an ambush.’

Evren glanced sideways at Zephyra, maintaining a relaxed stride as he answered through their mental link. ’Her worry for her grandfather in the market was genuine, and her mana signature is completely unranked. Besides, if anyone tries an ambush, do you think frontier outlaws can surprise a Shadow Empress?’

A subtle, dangerous smirk touched the corner of Zephyra’s lips in the misty gloom. ’Not a chance.’

"Step exactly where I step," Petal cautioned, pointing toward the rocky dirt path ahead. "Grandfather values his privacy, so he has spent years encouraging the mountain flora to defend the perimeter."

Evren glanced down, his sharp senses immediately picking up the subtle hum of localized nature mana. Patches of twisted black briars lined both sides of the narrow trail, their thorned vines trembling faintly as if responding to body heat.

"Sleep-thorn briars," Zephyra observed in a hushed tone. "Cultivated with paralytic sap to incapacitate anyone who wanders off the trail."

Petal glanced back over her shoulder, clearly surprised that Zephyra recognized the rare mountain shrub. "He also ran thin brass wires through the brush connected to acoustic chimes up at the cottage. If you snap a single wire, he will know someone is coming."

Zephyra merely offered a faint, knowing smirk. With a subtle flick of her fingers, invisible threads of shadow slipped through the underbrush, quietly anchoring the warning wires and soothing the reactive thorns before their boots even drew near.

Petal watched the shadowy display with wide eyes, realizing with a sudden chill just how terrifyingly skilled their guests truly were.

"How long has he lived like this?" Evren asked in an easy, conversational tone as they continued their climb.

"Ever since I can remember," Petal answered, keeping her pace brisk. "My parents died during a border beast raid when I was five, and grandfather raised me up here on the ridge. He taught me everything I know about wild herbs and alchemical drying."

"Does he ever visit the settlement?" Evren inquired.

"Almost never," Petal replied, shaking her head. "He says the town air is poisoned by gossip and mundane chatter. He spends his nights staring at the stars through brass lenses, muttering about cracks in the sky and drawing diagrams of ancient ruins."

"A dedicated researcher never truly abandons his work," Evren noted with a quiet smile.

They crested a rocky spur where the thick pine forest opened into a wide, sunlit mountain terrace. Nestled against the granite bluff was a sturdy stone cottage with a crooked glass chimney venting wisps of pale blue steam.

Behind the cottage stood a sprawling greenhouse constructed from leaded glass panes and tarnished copper frames. Through the glass, Evren could see terraced beds filled with bizarre, luminous alpine plants pulsing with celestial mana.

Rows of brass dials, copper distillation coils, and glass tubes were mounted along the stone walls, clicking softly like rhythmic clockwork. It looked far less like a rustic mountain home and far more like a sophisticated pre-war research facility hidden inside the wilderness.

Before Petal could step onto the front porch, the thick timber door of the workshop was kicked violently open with a loud bang.

An elderly man in a stained canvas apron and a faded linen shirt marched onto the gravel terrace. Wild tufts of silver hair stuck out around an ink-smudged forehead, and thick brass magnifying goggles were pushed up onto his wrinkled brow.

In his weathered hands, he gripped an antique pneumatic pressure sprayer loaded with a bubbling glass flask of caustic green fluid.

"Petal!" the old man bellowed, his scratchy voice echoing across the rocky clearing. "What in the name of the nine heavens did I tell you about bringing people up to my ridge?!"

Petal instinctively threw her hands up in exasperation. "Grandpops, wait! Put the sprayer down, they are not..."

"Quiet, girl!" the old man barked, his bloodshot eyes locking instantly onto Evren and Zephyra. He took in their coats, their posture, and the undeniable aura of high-rank combatants.

A look of wild, furious panic flared across his wrinkled face.

"Imperial dogs!" the old man shouted, aiming the brass nozzle directly at Evren’s chest with trembling hands. "Did Brandt’s butcher squad come to finish what the Council started, or are you here to plunder my research?"

Petal stepped between them, her face pale with worry. "Grandfather, stop! They didn’t come to hurt anyone!"

Evren did not flinch, nor did he reach for a weapon. He took one calm step forward, his hands remaining in his pockets as he looked straight into the terrified, furious eyes of the exiled scholar.

"General Brandt died of old age twenty years ago, Dr. Morrow," Evren said in a quiet voice that cut cleanly through the mountain breeze.

The old man stiffened, his fingers twitching against the sprayer valve as his jaw worked silently. "Then... then which corrupt council magistrate sent you?!"

Evren looked him in the eyes and answered. "Nobody sent me. I came on my own authority for Project Aethel-Seed... to ask about the Archive Seed, the Custodian Protocol, and the Progenitor matrix."

The old man froze as if struck by lightning.

The color drained from his face within an instant, leaving his skin as pale as mountain chalk. His bloodshot eyes went wide with pure shock, his breathing seizing completely inside his chest.

Evren took another slow step forward, reciting the exact conclusion from the classified report.

"The Progenitor matrix is not a weapon, Doctor," Evren murmured. "It functions through Sympathetic Soul-Resonance with broken vessels. You wrote those words before the Imperial Council erased you from history."

The pneumatic sprayer slipped from Morrow’s numb fingers. It clattered against the stone steps with a loud metallic ring, the green fluid sloshing harmlessly inside the glass container.

Morrow stared at Evren as if looking at a ghost that had climbed out of thirty-four years of buried ash. His chest heaved, his trembling hands clutching at his stained apron as his eyes filled with disbelief, fear, and a desperate, long-buried wonder.

Petal watched the exchange in stunned silence, having never seen her proud, ferocious grandfather look so completely undone. Morrow slowly turned his shaking gaze toward his granddaughter, then toward Zephyra.

"Leave us."