Chapter 186: The Lament Shroud
"...I met Professor Harken, Zephyr, and Aeron on the road while entering the Shield Families’ territory."
Lumin paused for a moment and continued.
"After... certain events unfolded, they asked me to accompany them. It was actually young friend Zephyr’s idea - he anticipated that either Lady Luthaire or you might take the news... poorly. Having a healer who understands mental afflictions seemed prudent. And since their goals somehow aligned with mine, I agreed."
"As for the rest..." He glanced at the baron. "We both know how that turned out, don’t we?"
The baron nodded slowly at Lumin’s words.
Though a sliver of suspicion still lingered, he found himself believing the half-elf. The world was vast, after all, and there were many like him—wanderers, free-spirited souls who traveled where fate took them.
There had been a time, long ago, when he too had dreamed of such a life. But not everything went as one wished, and truthfully, he was content with the life he had now.
Lumin added, his voice calm but firm, "And you don’t need to worry. I have no ill intentions. In fact, I may be able to help with this Hollowlands issue." He paused. "But of course, we’ll have to wait until this incident passes."
The baron chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "You’re right. And... forgive me for doubting you again."
"No worries," Lumin replied, offering a faint smile.
They arrived at Lady Luthaire’s chambers soon after. The baron knocked lightly before pushing the door open, only to freeze in place.
The bed was empty.
His gaze snapped to the table by the side, where a figure sat hunched over, trembling, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Both men stood stunned for a moment. Then, Lumin took a quiet step back.
"I’ll come back later," he murmured.
The baron nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "...Thank you."
Lumin slipped out, closing the door behind him without a sound.
The baron lingered for a second, his perception stretching beyond the room. He waited till Lumin was already at the far end of the corridor, his footsteps fading.
Then, with slow, deliberate steps, the baron approached his wife.
"Selva."
"!"
Selvienne trembled violently as she turned toward her husband.
The baron’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her - tears streamed unchecked down her pale cheeks, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed from crying. The usually composed Lady Luthaire looked utterly broken, her delicate features twisted with unbearable grief.
"O-our son," she choked out between sobs, her fingers clutching desperately something - the letter he left behind yesterday on the table.
"A-Aman... he... he..."
The baron found himself unable to speak.
Words felt hollow, inadequate against such raw sorrow. Instead, he crossed the distance between them in three long strides and gathered his wife into his arms.
She collapsed against his chest with a shuddering gasp, her entire body wracked with sobs. He held her tightly, one large hand cradling the back of her head while the other rubbed slow circles between her shoulder blades. Her tears soaked through his shirt, warm against his skin.
"It’s alright," he murmured into her hair, though the words tasted like ash. "I’m here."
Selvienne clutched at him like a drowning woman, her fingers digging into his back. For the first time since receiving the news, she wasn’t alone in her grief. The weight of it could be shared, divided between two sets of shoulders instead of one.
Though the baron wondered silently if even that would be enough.
_____ ___ _
Unknown to the grieving couple, a figure stood just next corridor, his back pressed against the cold obsidian wall. Lumin’s eyes were closed, his breathing deliberately even.
After a long moment, his eyelids fluttered open.
"I’m sorry..." he whispered, so softly the words barely disturbed the air.
His fingers rose to adjust his monocle, the glass catching the dim torchlight. With one last glance toward their room, he pushed off from the wall and continued down the corridor, his footsteps silent against the stone.
A few minutes later.
Lumin’s silent footsteps carried him to the modest castle library - not the grand archive he’d expected, but a practical chamber lined with utilitarian bookshelves.
The scent of pine resin from the torches mixed with parchment as he spotted Zephyr and Aeron at a central table.
He approached silently, exchanging nods with them before settling into a chair beside Zephyr.
His eyes immediately flicked to the paper spread across the table, a meticulously drawn sketch of the "eyes in the snow," their hollow gaze captured in unsettling detail.
Below the image, lines of neatly organized notes detailed observed behaviors and speculated weaknesses.
Zephyr spoke first, his voice low but clear. "We suspect the blizzard might not end naturally."
Lumin nodded slowly. "...You mean this creature could be controlling the storm?"
"Yes," Zephyr replied curtly. "Or... It might be one with the blizzard itself."
"And," Aeron tapped the parchment, adding, "that’s why we’re compiling everything we know - its abilities, strengths, and weaknesses. It’s always better to know about your enemy."
Lumin’s lips curved into a faint smile. "Good thinking." He leaned forward slightly. "Then allow me to join you."
The two exchanged a glance, Aeron’s golden eyes flickering with curiosity, Zephyr’s silver gaze unreadable, before nodding in unison. Aeron had his reasons to agree, while Zephyr’s reasons ran deeper than he let on.
"Alright," Lumin began, folding his hands on the table. "From what I’ve observed, this monster isn’t just a single entity. It’s a hive mind entity." He pointed to the sketch. "The ’eyes’ are likely the core consciousness - the one controlling the Mistborn and the corrupted. And obviously the real threat."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. The lantern light flickered across his monocle as he continued. "And according to a certain... source, it has a name."
"A few names in fact."
Aeron’s brows lifted slightly, but Zephyr’s expression remained impassive, waiting.
Lumin’s voice dropped, as if wary of the shadows listening.
"It’s called a Hollowborn, a true Mistborn, or even the term we came to know - The Eyes in the Snow."
"...Though if it were up to me, I’d call it only one thing - Lament Shroud."