CHAPTER 37: CHAPTER 37

The acrid scent of smoke and shattered stone filled the air as Varian and Malrik raced through the corridors of the estate’s eastern wing. Their footsteps echoed against ancient walls now marred by dust and debris, while the shouts of guards and servants created a cacophony of confusion that seemed to mock the carefully maintained order of House Drake.

The explosion had torn through the morning silence like a blade through silk, and now its aftermath painted the hallways in chaos. Servants pressed themselves against walls as the two Supreme Elders swept past, their faces pale with shock and fear. Some bore minor cuts from flying debris, while others simply stood frozen, unable to process what had just occurred within the supposedly secure confines of the estate.

Varian’s mind raced as they approached the source of the destruction. Every political calculation, every carefully laid plan now hung in the balance. If Leoric was dead—if the third heir of House Northwind had been murdered under Drake protection—the alliance would not just fail, it would ignite a war that could consume both families.

"Clear the area!" Varian barked at a cluster of guards who had gathered near what remained of the guest wing’s main corridor.

"Establish a perimeter fifty paces out. No one approaches without direct authorization from Elder Malrik or myself."

The guards scrambled to obey, their training overriding their shock. But Varian could see the questions in their eyes, the dawning realization that their security had been catastrophically breached.

As they rounded the final corner, the full scope of the destruction became clear. Where Leoric’s quarters had stood, a gaping wound now scarred the estate’s ancient stonework. The explosion had been precisely targeted—surgical in its application yet devastating in its effect.

The outer wall had been blown completely away, leaving a jagged opening that looked out onto the estate’s gardens. Morning light streamed through the breach, illuminating floating motes of dust and debris that danced like ash from a funeral pyre.

The interior walls had fared little better. What had once been elegantly appointed guest chambers were now a twisted maze of collapsed beams, shattered furniture, and pulverized stone.

The explosion’s force had been channeled expertly—maximum damage to the specific area while minimizing harm to adjacent structures. This was not the work of amateurs.

Malrik stepped carefully through the debris field, his pale eyes scanning every detail with the methodical precision of a man trained in warfare. His face remained composed, but Varian could see the tension in his shoulders, the barely controlled fury that made the air around him seem to freeze.

"Leoric!" Malrik called out, his voice carrying clearly despite the ambient noise of destruction.

"Leoric, respond if you can hear me!"

Silence.

Only the creak of damaged timbers and the distant sounds of guards establishing their perimeter answered his call.

Varian joined the search, moving carefully through the wreckage. His own cultivation senses, honed by decades of Supreme-level advancement, reached out to detect any trace of life within the devastation. But the explosion’s residual energy interfered with such detection—another sign of sophisticated planning.

"Here," Malrik said quietly, kneeling beside what had once been the room’s main sleeping area. In his hands, he held fragments of cloth—fine silk in the distinctive ice-blue pattern favored by House Northwind. The fabric was torn and scorched, but unmistakably from Leoric’s formal robes.

Varian examined the material, noting the burn patterns and the way the tears followed the grain of the weave. "The blast caught him directly. But where is he?"

Malrik’s jaw tightened as he continued his examination of the debris field. "Blood here," he reported, pointing to dark stains on the broken stone.

"Not enough for a fatal wound, but significant. And these scorch marks..."

He traced patterns in the residual burn damage.

"Magical explosive, but not conventional. Something designed to disorient and capture rather than simply kill."

"Capture?" Varian moved closer, following Malrik’s analysis. "You think he was taken alive?"

"Look at the blast pattern," Malrik said, rising to his full height.

His voice carried the cold authority of a man who had survived countless battles in the frozen wastes. "The force was directed outward through that breach in the wall. If they wanted him dead, they would have focused the explosion inward, ensuring complete destruction. Instead, they created an escape route."

Varian studied the gaping hole in the estate’s wall, his mind racing through implications. Beyond the breach lay the estate’s formal gardens, then a stretch of managed woodland that eventually connected to the main road. A perfect extraction route for someone who knew the terrain.

"This was a kidnapping," he said grimly. "Planned, executed with precision, and timed to cause maximum political damage."

Malrik’s response was barely above a whisper, but the fury beneath it was unmistakable. "Someone has taken my heir. Someone has violated the sacred laws of hospitality and guest-right. When I discover who..."

The threat hung unfinished in the air, but Varian felt the temperature around them drop noticeably. Malrik’s cultivation was beginning to manifest physically, responding to his emotional state. Frost began to form on the damaged walls, and their breath became visible despite the morning warmth.

"We need to contain this information," Varian said urgently. "If word spreads that Leoric is missing—"

"Contains nothing," Malrik cut him off, ice crystals forming in his silver hair. "My nephew is gone. Taken from under your family’s protection. Every moment we waste on politics is a moment his captors use to put distance between us and them."

Varian recognized the danger in Malrik’s rising anger. A Supreme Elder of House Northwind, consumed by rage and fear for a family member, could level significant portions of the estate if his control slipped. But more than physical destruction, Varian feared the political catastrophe that would follow.

"I understand your fury," Varian said carefully, "but we must think strategically. If we act rashly—"

"Rashly?" Malrik turned, and for a moment, Varian saw not the composed political elder but the winter wolf that lurked beneath the civilized facade. "They have taken the third heir of House Northwind. There is no strategic consideration that outweighs that reality."

Before Varian could respond, rapid footsteps announced the arrival of reinforcements. A guard appeared in the breach, his expression grim as he surveyed the destruction. Behind him came a Eyra, her trained eyes immediately beginning their own analysis of the scene.

"Report," Varian commanded.

"No other explosions detected throughout the estate," he said crisply. "All other guests and family members accounted for and secure. The blast appears to have been an isolated incident targeting this specific location."

Eyra stepped carefully through the debris, her movements precise and economical. "External security shows signs of careful reconnaissance. Someone mapped the estate’s routines, guard rotations, even the architectural weak points. This required weeks of preparation."

"Survivors among the estate staff?" Malrik asked, his voice still carrying that dangerous edge of barely controlled rage.

"Two servants were in adjacent corridors when the explosion occurred," he reported. "Both suffered minor injuries but are conscious and coherent. They report seeing nothing unusual prior to the blast—no strangers, no suspicious activities."

"Which confirms professional execution," Eyra added. "Whoever did this was skilled enough to remain completely undetected until the moment of action."

Malrik moved to the breach in the wall, staring out at the gardens beyond. "Search patterns. Now. Every guard, every available cultivator. Fan out from this point and search for any trace of passage. Boot prints, disturbed vegetation, residual cultivation signatures—anything."

"Already underway," the male guard confirmed. "But Elder Malrik, if this was a professional extraction, they likely had multiple contingency routes planned. Finding their trail will be..."

"Find it," Malrik said flatly. The frost around him began to spread further, creating delicate patterns of ice across the broken stone. "I don’t care about difficulties. I care about results."

Varian watched this exchange with growing unease. Malrik’s emotional state was understandable, but it was also dangerous. A Supreme Elder operating on pure rage could make decisions that would have catastrophic consequences for both families.

"There’s something else," Eyra said quietly. She held up a small object—a fragment of metal, twisted and partially melted by the explosion’s heat. "This appears to be part of the explosive device itself. The craftsmanship is... distinctive."

Malrik snatched the fragment from her hand, examining it with the intensity of a man trying to read his own death warrant. "I’ve seen work like this before. During the border conflicts fifteen years ago. But this is more sophisticated, more refined."

"You recognize the maker?" Varian asked.

"Not the individual, but the technique. This kind of precision work requires resources, facilities, and expertise that limits the pool of potential creators significantly." Malrik pocketed the fragment. "I’ll need to consult with my own artificers, but I suspect this device was created by someone with access to advanced cultivation techniques and rare materials."

The implications were staggering. Such resources pointed toward involvement by either another Great Family or a sophisticated criminal organization with significant backing. Either possibility would complicate any response dramatically.

"We need to notify your family leadership," Varian said reluctantly. "They’ll demand answers, explanations, and probably blood payment for this violation."

Malrik’s laugh was like ice breaking on a frozen lake. "Notify them? Elder Varian, by now they already know. The explosion was loud enough to wake the dead, and news travels faster than winter wind in the north. My family’s response will not wait for our permission or our explanations."

The truth of that statement sent a chill through Varian that had nothing to do with Malrik’s uncontrolled cultivation. House Northwind was not known for patience or measured responses when family honor was at stake. If they believed the Drakes were responsible—either through complicity or incompetence—retaliation would be swift and devastating.

"Then we have very little time," Varian said grimly. "Every moment that passes strengthens the case for Drake culpability. We need to find Leoric, or at least identify his captors, before your family decides that war is the only acceptable response."

"No," Malrik said quietly, but with absolute finality. "We need to find Leoric because he is family, and family is everything. Political consequences are secondary to bringing him home alive."

As the two Supreme Elders stood amid the wreckage of their carefully laid plans, the morning sun climbed higher, its light illuminating the true scope of the disaster that had befallen them. Somewhere in the distance, a search party’s horns began to sound as the estate’s forces mobilized for what might be their most critical mission.

But both men knew that time was their enemy now, and with each passing hour, the chances of recovering Leoric—and salvaging the alliance—grew dimmer.