Gaius let out a quiet grunt. “Wouldn’t matter much if they did. You expose one leak, and two more crawl out of the floorboards.”

Ludger leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded. “Sounds like someone’s testing how deep they can dig before we notice. They are using disposable lackeys and waiting for us to do something big.”

Luna nodded slowly. “That’s what it feels like. Small leaks first. Just enough to see who reacts.”

Viola drummed her fingers against the table, thinking. “Then we don’t react. Not yet. If they want to watch, let them. We’ll feed them something worth watching.”

A faint smirk tugged at Ludger’s mouth. “You mean bait.”

“That is right,” Viola said. “Let them think the Lionsguard’s distracted with construction and sea monsters. Meanwhile, Luna—keep tracing those leaks. Find who they’re sending to, not just from.”

Luna inclined her head. “Already started.”

“Good,” Viola said.

Gaius stretched his shoulders with a low sigh. “Well, at least the day wasn’t wasted. The bridge stands, the sea’s calm, and we know who’s been whispering behind our backs.”

Ludger pushed away from the table, the exhaustion finally showing beneath the calm. “Yeah,” he muttered, “just another normal day at work.”

Luna’s lip twitched. “Normal for you, maybe.”

He shrugged. “You get used to it.”

The room settled into a weary quiet after that—the sound of waves outside mixing with the faint creak of the wooden beams. For now, at least, they had progress. Pillars in the water. Plans on the table. And the faint, uneasy sense that every move they made was being watched from somewhere just beyond the tide.

After Luna’s report, the others gradually drifted off to rest or clean their gear. The house quieted—only the wind tapping faintly against the shutters and the low hiss of the nearby waves.

Ludger stayed by the table with Gaius, both of them nursing half-empty mugs of tea that had gone cold. The lantern light flickered across the older mage’s face, catching the deep lines around his eyes.

“So,” Ludger said finally, “what do you think about that labyrinth in the archipelago?”

Gaius raised an eyebrow. “Why ask me?”

“You’re the golem expert,” Ludger replied, voice dry but curious. “Lucius said the things they found there use mana cores. You’ve worked with constructs all your life—what kind of thing needs that much energy just to move?”

Gaius gave a low hum, leaning back in his chair. “I’m an expert in iron golems, boy. Big difference. Those cores we used aren’t true mana cores—they’re catalysts. They channel power, but they don’t produce it.”

He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “What Ironhand found, though… that’s something else. If those creatures have independent mana cores—ones that act like energy sources instead of hearts—it means they were made to operate without a master.”

“Autonomous?” Ludger asked.

Gaius nodded slowly. “Exactly. And not the kind that’s bound by simple directives like guard or mine. These could adapt, react, maybe even learn. The worst part?” He took a sip of the cold tea, grimacing. “There’s no way to tell what kind of cores they’re using. Defensive, offensive, stealth-based—hell, maybe some of them even manipulate mana the way we do. When a construct’s components aren’t aligned to any natural element, their potential’s unpredictable.”

“So they could do anything,” Ludger muttered.

“Pretty much,” Gaius said. “Which makes them someone else’s problem for now.”

He set his mug down with a faint clink. “We’ll worry about the labyrinth when we can actually see the archipelago. Until then, we’ve got pillars to build and a bridge to keep from sinking.”

Ludger nodded, eyes drifting toward the window where the moonlight stretched across the sand. “Fair enough. Just hope whatever’s down there stays asleep until we’re ready for it.”

Gaius chuckled, low and tired. “That’s the thing about labyrinths, kid. They only sleep long enough for you to get comfortable.”

Ludger smirked faintly, standing up. “Comfort’s overrated anyway.”

“You don’t say,” Gaius said.

The two mages left the lantern burning as they headed toward their rooms. For now, the sea was quiet. But far beyond the horizon, under the dark waters of the archipelago, something stirred. As it was listening.

The next morning came with the smell of roasted grain and sea salt drifting through the open windows. Inside the dining room, the Lionsguard sat scattered around the long table, half awake.

Ludger sat across from Gaius, a bowl of porridge cooling in front of him, stirring it absently with his spoon. His mind wasn’t on breakfast.

“So,” he started, “about those golems.”

Gaius grunted, not looking up from his bread. “You’re still thinking about that?”

“You said the ones from labyrinths are autonomous,” Ludger said. “ How are these different from other golems?”

“They’re not the same creatures at all,” Gaius said, tearing the bread in half. “The ones made by human hands—those are crafted shells. Empty until someone gives them orders. But labyrinth golems?” He shook his head. “They’re born, not built. Their cores generate mana on their own. They don’t need a master. They are their own master.”

“So they’re closer to monsters,” Viola said from the end of the table, sipping her tea.

“In a sense,” Gaius said. “Monsters with structure. With rules.”

Ludger leaned back, frowning slightly. “Then who in the world could make one? I mean a real golem—a functioning, obedient one.”

Gaius smirked faintly. “You won’t find that in the Empire. Not anymore.”

Ludger raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“The knowledge exists,” Gaius said. “But not here. The craft was abandoned after some issues, too risky, too costly, too tempting for idiots who think they can replace soldiers with stone. These days, you might find tinkerers or artificers who play around with enchantments, but a true golemancer? Forget it.”

He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “If you really want to meet someone who can build and control one properly, you’d have to go east. Past the mountains.”

“The Velis League,” Viola guessed.

Gaius nodded. “Exactly. They don’t fear constructs the way the Empire does. They use them for mining, guard work, even engines. Half their cities are powered by golems pulling levers underground.”

Ludger exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “East of the mountains…”

He frowned deeper, the spoon in his hand forgotten. “That complicates things.”

“Everything worth finding usually does,” Gaius said, washing down his meal with a sip of water. “But it’s better than nothing. If these labyrinth golems share design with League models, that might give us a clue.”

“Ludger,” Elaine said sharply, “if you’re going to talk about monsters, do it after breakfast.”

The room went silent.

Even Gaius froze mid-bite, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. Ludger blinked, caught mid-sentence about mana core compatibility and ocean predators. He straightened a little, the faintest twitch crossing his jaw.

“…Sorry, Mom.”

Elaine gave him a look that could bend iron. “You have little siblings in this house, and I’d like them to grow up without learning how to describe dismemberment before they can walk.”

Across the table, Viola smirked behind her cup of tea. “Wow. The great Vice Guildmaster, scolded before finishing his oatmeal.”

Ludger didn’t even hesitate. “Says the girl who still hasn’t won a single spar in her life.”

Viola raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” Ludger said calmly, stirring his porridge, “if you ever want to feel what victory’s like, maybe challenge a turtle next time. They move at your speed.”

Gaius snorted into his cup. Kharnek barked out a laugh that Selene tried—and failed—to hide behind her plate.

Viola leaned forward, eyes narrowing dangerously. “You know, for someone half my height, you talk like you have a death wish.”

“Half your height, twice your skill,” Ludger said without missing a beat. “I am like ten centimeters shorter, and three years younger.”

Elaine sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Every meal. Every single meal.”

Arslan finally spoke, tone half amused, half resigned. “Enough. If you two start throwing insults before noon, the day’s doomed already.”

Viola leaned back, crossing her arms with exaggerated calm. “Fine. I’ll let him live—today.”

Ludger gave a faint shrug. “Appreciate it.”

“Children,” Elaine muttered under her breath, standing to pour more tea.

Arslan turned the topic before it could spiral further. “Speaking of schedules—Viola, what’s the plan for our group? Lucius and his birthday celebration next week. Are you staying that long, or returning home sooner?”

Viola exhaled slowly, some of her earlier fire fading. “Honestly? I wanted to stay and see the bridge’s first phase completed. But…” She hesitated, her expression softening slightly. “Grandfather’s alone at the estate. After everything that’s been happening, I doubt he’ll sit still if I’m gone for months.”

Arslan nodded. “Understandable. Duty comes first.”

“Lucius’s birthday might be the last chance for diplomacy for a while,” Viola added. “If half the rumors about Imperial agents and smuggling are true, we will need all the allies it can get.”

Gaius leaned back in his chair, looking at the map pinned on the nearby wall. “You can handle the politics,” he said. “Ludger and I will handle the work. The bridge won’t build itself.”

Ludger nodded, resigned. “Yeah. Looks like I’m stuck here for the next few months.”

Viola smirked faintly. “Good. Gives me time to practice. When I come back, maybe I’ll win that spar.”

“Sure,” Ludger said dryly. “And maybe the sea will stop being wet.”

Elaine just sighed, sipping her tea as the twins babbled from their cradle in the corner. “If the Empire doesn’t break from corruption,” she said quietly, “this family’s bickering might.”

The room filled with light laughter—worn, tired, but real.

For a moment, even with talk of monsters, conspiracies, and poisoned nobles hanging over them, it felt almost normal. Almost.

When breakfast was done and the last of the dishes were cleared, Ludger slung his satchel over one shoulder and headed for the door. Gaius followed behind him, adjusting his cloak and muttering something about “currents and coral density.”

The air outside was sharp with sea salt and sun. Workers in the distance were already trudging down toward the beach, their shouts carrying over the waves.

Ludger was halfway down the steps when he caught sight of movement inside the house again—his mother.

Elaine was standing by the table, calm as always, wrapping a light shawl around her shoulders. The twins were in her arms, one on each side, both cooing happily as she adjusted their blankets.

Ludger frowned. “…What are you doing?”

“Getting ready,” Elaine said casually, as if she were about to take a short walk to the market. “I thought I’d see the ocean for myself.”

Ludger blinked. “See the ocean?”

“Yes,” she said, entirely unbothered. “It’s been ages since I saw the coast up close. Besides, the twins have never seen the sea.”

She said it with the same tone someone might use for going to buy bread.

Ludger stared at her, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mom, there are monsters in the ocean. The twins won’t even remember the ocean in an year.”

“Monsters,” Elaine repeated, shifting Elle to her other arm as if weighing the word. “Yes, I’ve heard. You’re building a bridge over them, dear.”

“That’s exactly why it’s not a place for a stroll.”

She smiled faintly, not rising to the bait. “Relax. We’ll stay near the workers, and I’ll have Harol, Selene, Cor and Aleia with me. I’d rather not have everyone cooped up just because the sea growls sometimes.”

“Growls,” Ludger muttered. “It eats people, Mom.”

Gaius chuckled behind him, leaning on his walking staff. “You’re wasting your breath, boy. When a woman decides to visit the ocean, the ocean can only pray for its safety.”

Elaine gave him a small nod of agreement. “Exactly. And I’d feel guilty if everyone stayed behind to keep watch instead of getting some air. You all have enough weight on your shoulders already.”

Ludger sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “You sound just like Viola when she wants something dangerous to sound reasonable.”

Elaine adjusted Arash’s blanket, her tone perfectly composed. “Then I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Ludger gave up. “Fine. But stay close to everyone. If something happens—”

“I’ll scream very loudly,” she said, already walking toward the door. “Until my voice makes the head of the monsters explode.”

He exhaled through his nose, muttering under his breath. “This family’s going to kill me before the monsters do.”

Gaius chuckled as they followed her out. “You’ll live. Probably. Besides,” he added, smirking slightly, “if the monsters show up, your mother will probably scold them into retreating.”

“Don’t joke,” Ludger said, rubbing the back of his neck as the group headed down toward the shimmering beach. “She’d actually try that.”

The ocean glimmered under the morning light, the very imcomplete bridge casting long shadows over the surf. Workers were already moving timber into place, calling to one another. And among them, Elaine walked calmly with the twins, like it was the safest place in the world.

Ludger just sighed again. “Unbelievable.”

“Welcome to parenthood in reverse,” Gaius said, patting his shoulder. “Now you know how she felt raising you.”

Ludger didn’t answer—mostly because he couldn’t argue.

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