Huntmaster Vask found the pattern precisely nine days after her first advance scouts fanned out across the rugged, shale-choked terrain of the eastern border provinces. She discovered it exactly the way she had promised Corrin she would: not by foolishly chasing the elusive boy directly through hundreds of leagues of dense wilderness, but by patiently mapping the outer edges of the network he was so meticulously building.The signs were subtle, scattered across miles of rural countryside, but to an eye trained by a decade of high-value imperial hunts, they shone like beacons in the dark.Three separate peasant families in as many neighboring villages had recently and unexpectedly been relieved of ruinous debts they had possessed no visible means of paying off. In a remote valley, a healer’s highly distinctive, intricate stitching technique had appeared in deep wounds treated at isolated farmsteads—wounds on men who swore no imperial physician had ever visited their land. Most damning

Theo's cross-referencing—painstaking, methodical, and patient—finally bore fruit on a cold, rain-soaked evening three weeks into the network's careful growth. The water drummed a relentless, rhythmic cadence against the sagging canvas roof of their hidden forest lean-to, sending pale rivulets of mud trickling past the fire pit. Inside the meager shelter, Theo laid two names side by side on the group's makeshift table with the particular, quiet satisfaction of an elite scholar who had spent thirty years building exactly this kind of pattern-recognition within the dark vaults of the Repository."House Wrenfield," Theo said, his index finger tapping the yellowed parchment over the first entry. "Air-bonded, purged sixteen years ago during the northern pacification campaigns. I've cross-referenced the imperial survivor reports against Maren Kest's own scattered network of listeners, and I believe I've narrowed the last confirmed sighting to a remote trading post three days east of here, ne