Author's note: Ah oops, happy belated Chapter 12. I am a bit low on motivation atm and sort of forgot to upload it earlier. Again, thanks for reading, and a friendly reminder that I always try to be considerate of any feedback I receive when writing new chapters, both positive and negative.

Seira II – Lukedonia, 9th November, 15:30

The strong, savoury scent of ramen broth filled the west wing of Ser Raizel's mansion. Carefully, Seira stirred the broth once more. Without electricity, they had to make do by boiling water over a fire.

"And are you sure this will turn out well?", Rael asked, sitting on a chair by the window.
"It will," she said calmly. They had just returned from their mission to obtain all the ingredients half an hour ago. Would Ramen bring any comfort to Ser Raizel? Seira had not expressed her doubts when Tao had sent them the recipe he'd found while trying to arrange everything in the household, including Frankenstein's laboratories. Why did she feel so comforted by the thought that she could still serve ramen the same way Frankenstein always did? She wished he were there to make it himself.

"Do you know what my father admired most about humans?", she asked, and her voice was barely a whisper. Rael's chair creaked slightly when he straightened his posture. She could feel him watching her. "Humans always adapt. No matter how desperate the situation is... they fight on. They find ways to continue." They found a way to cook ramen without electricity and they would find a way to free their Lord and save their people. She must believe in it, or else there would be nothing to believe in. Rael fell silent and that was alright. He had fully recovered from the injuries he'd sustained during the battles in the werewolf territory, and having had a task to fulfil did good to both of them.

Silently, Seira got up to place the noodles in the bowls. Regis and his grandfather would come, as well as Karias and Claudia. Eight bowls. Rael watched her. "Can I... do something to help?"
For a moment, Seira paused. This was almost unlike him, though not unwelcome. What was a task Rael could do? She did not know whether he was good at cutting vegetables and other decorations the way she needed them to make a presentable meal worthy of clan leaders.

"I need someone to pour the contents of these sachets in the broth." She pointed at the heap of seasoning mixes that came with each pack of ramen noodles. According to the notes Frankenstein had taken, only half the seasoning should be used because Ser Raizel did not enjoy his food being overly salty. She figured using only four of the eight seasoning blends should work.

"There are eight flavour powder packets, eight dried toppings... and only use four of the seasonings," she instructed to Rael. He glanced at the different plastic wrappings, stopping to see which was which.

He turned around to add the seasoning to their broth while Seira started chopping the vegetables and other ingredients they had acquired to follow this recipe. Maybe this would be a good way to honour the memory of Frankenstein, she thought. Hopefully she would not dishonour it by failing to recreate it the way he had perfected it for his Master.

Seira was aware of the arrival of the other nobles. "Rael," she said softly. "Is the table prepared?" Cutlery and napkins must be placed beforehand, so everything could be arranged neatly, and in an aesthetically pleasing way. Rael had done this task before, with Regis, if she was not mistaken. He answered with a nod and, carefully, she loaded the bowls on trays. Two bowls for each tray, two trays for each of them. Gejutel was the first to enter the dining room while Seira and Rael finished setting everything up.

They all sat by the table they had prepared.

When Garda picked up the chopsticks, Raizel gently placed a hand on her arm to stop her. "You must wait for the ramen to multiply," he said softly, and Garda placed her chopsticks back down on the napkin. Karias laughed, and Claudia joined with a little giggle.

Seira preferred her ramen the way Shinwoo ate it, when it was not too soggy. Briefly, she considered whether she should start eating now, but decided that she must not insult the Noblesse like that by starting to eat when he, personally, advised to wait first.

Why could they not be like that in times of peace? Seira liked listening to Claudia talking about the different plants and animals, and Karias seemed to never run out of topics. Regis complained about maths and physics and Gejutel chided his lack of studiousness. She wanted to be with her fellow clan leaders, and she wanted them to be friends. Like the children of Ye Ran Highschool. Feeling her throat close up with tension, she excused herself softly and rose from her chair. Why must they isolate themselves from the world when everyone seemed so much happier spending time together? Why must they leave one another to grieve and struggle when the weight of loss was almost unbearable when left to face it alone? So many things that had always felt natural now seemed wrong.

Together, the future felt less terrifying. Maybe things would be alright, as long as they had each other. Did it matter, in this situation, though? Seira leaned against the wall and took a couple of deep breaths. She must remain composed. Her life and her friends were in no immediate danger right now. This overwhelming sadness was inappropriate, in the light of the current situation.

"Miss Seira?" Claudia had left the dining room as well, and the heels of her shoes tapped softly against the carpet floor as she approached. Seira looked away, cheeks reddening in embarrassment. An adult should not be seen like this, lest of all a Clan Leader. Not in a situation like this.

"The ramen is delicious. Thank you for preparing it for us," Claudia said softly and stopped by the window, maintaining a polite, respectful distance between them.
"Thank you. I prepared it by Frankenstein's recipe." Seira felt a strange kind of gratitude for Claudia's presence. To leave her alone would be the proper way. The noble way. Such strong, negative emotions were unelegant – it would be uncomfortable to place someone in the position of being seen in such a state. Seira was glad Claudia had followed her regardless.

A few moments had passed and she had reined herself back in. She should not be getting emotional, not now. It would be selfish to make the others worry about her now.
"Is it strange of me to not be afraid?", Claudia mused, running her fingers along the outer seam of the curtain. Seira looked up at the sudden question, and wondered whether she was supposed to answer at all. Was it strange? She wondered how one could not be afraid.

"... I can feel it. Everything will be alright," Claudia continued. "Somehow, everything will be alright." The leader of the Tradio clan smiled and turned to Seira.
"Are you psychic, Ser Claudia?", she asked, and it was a legitimate question. Several nobles throughout history have been confirmed to be able to make correct, non-trivial predictions about the future on multiple occasions. Softly, Claudia shook her head to negate the question.
"No. I just... know."

Seira smiled awkwardly when Claudia reached for her hands and enjoyed the gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry, Miss Seira. The light will conquer dark, the morning chase away the night, and everything will be alright. I know it."

Raskreia IV – Werewolf Island, 9th November, 17:30

Time was turning more and more into an abstract concept, reality faded into the darkness of these cells. In this place without light, even her supernatural eyes could only perceive the vague shape of the objects around her. Raskreia was aware of almost every single rat on this level, and several levels above. Rats were all there was, though, not a sentient soul anywhere. She barely moved, except to brush off the dust that tried to settle on her. Maybe this was the worst part of it all: not being able to do anything.

Even though Ignes had not responded to a single attempt at establishing a mental connection that would allow them to communicate, her presence had felt grounding. The sound of her heartbeat and her breath had made the silence of these dungeons less oppressive.

Ignes Kravei. Are you still alive? Hours must have passed before Raskreia had sent out the same telepathic signal again. Ignes Kravei. Are you alive? Even though Ignes was not on her side – it seemed that for now, she was on no side at all. Days must have passed, and her repeated attempts at reaching her led Raskreia to believe that Ignes was either dead or no longer in the territory of the werewolves and thus, out of her telepathy's reach. They might no longer be friends, or even on the same side... and still, she hoped that it was the latter.

Maybe this was the worst part of it: the uncertainty. What was going to happen? Maybe the Lord was already gathering his warriors to march on Lukedonia. Maybe the Union caught wind of their weakness and tried to strike again. And she, the Lord who was supposed to protect them, could do naught but sit and catch dust.

Raskreia tensed when she sensed another soul approach, and she was filled with dread, anticipation and relief all at the same time. At least something was happening, at last! She squinted when the bright, orange light of a torch irritated her eyes, so used to darkness by now. No... there was no way... Ignes Kravei placed the torch in a holder by the wall before turning to her.

"Lord." In a graceful motion, Ignes knelt before the Lord's cell. For one second, Raskreia failed to hide her surprise. Exhaling shakily, the disgraced clan leader placed a hand over her chest. "Lord. I am here with a deal I wish to propose to you. Grant me pardon, and grant me sanctuary, and I will find a way to set you free from this place."

Raskreia swallowed when Ignes looked up from the floor in front of her. Fear was in her crimson eyes. Maybe a certain despair. "Plesase, help me" Ignes added, quieter, her voice was little more than a whisper. "... and I will help you."

The thought was tempting. To end this nightmare that put all nobles and Lords of the present and the past to shame – and it all came at small cost. What was one pardon? However, the easy thing... was rarely the right thing. Ignes Kravei remained a traitor who had worked with the enemy and assaulted several of the current clan leaders unprovoked. How could she forgive these acts, just like that? And... more importantly... even if she could forgive Ignes for the sake of pragmatism... if she were to disappear and to return to Lukedonia... Maduke would waste no time to retaliate. While she was here, however... Raskreia took a deep breath, and prayed that her gamble was right.

"Ignes Kravei. You are and remain a traitor who committed crimes against your own people. You cannot buy absolution, not even like this."

Ignes' smile dropped and was replaced by a harrowed fright, and Raskreia could see her struggling to remain composed. The raven-haired noble took a deep breath. "... Lord... I … I am sorry. I... my heart is breaking to see you like this." Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "... the mere thought of Maduke getting his hands on you, Lord, fills me with dread and disgust. I promise. I will do anything I can to keep him away from you.. and... I beseech you... think about my offer. I beg of you. Think about it, and reconsider it."

Raskreia almost shuddered when she brought up the werewolf Lord – and if he already frightened one of his allies so, she did not wish to know what would happen to his enemies. No. Let him rage all he wants, she must be the mountain that will not bow to the storm. She must be fearless.

Ignes stood up, looking defeated. "... Raskreia... I swear... I never meant for any of this to happen."
"And yet it all happened," Raskreia said and wished she could give another answer. A kinder answer. With a sigh, Ignes looked away. "... I... will return when I get the opportunity... and I beg of you... think about my offer."

Raskreia listened to the sound of Ignes' footsteps, and for a few hours, the shadows and lights cast by the torch would keep her company.

Frankenstein III – Werewolf Island, 10th November, 03:00

Shadows and colors danced through Frankenstein's dreams, abstract, vague. Sometimes, the feeling of a cold, wet cloth on his forehead would accompany him back into the realms of sleep. Other times, a sharp, stinging pain seized his entire body and he screamed until his throat was sore and his voice broke off. The days were dark and the nights were bright, the limits of reality and dream had vanished entirely – yet slowly, things started to clear up again. He started to grow increasingly aware of himself, and could differentiate between dreams and moments of lucidity – it was the in between that nauseated him still.

He shifted slightly. The soft furs that served as bedding tickled his bare skin, and the old, woolly blankets were itchy. When he shifted to toss one of the covers aside, the cold night air bit at his skin. With a laboured huff, Frankenstein turned around. The remnants of a fire offered a weak glow that made the surrounding darkness even more intense. He wrinkled his nose slightly. Burnt sage and ginkgo. Most of the time, he was alone when he woke up, and his body refused to let him stay awake for longer than a few minutes at a time. By now, he knew that he was being kept in a stone hut, old and draughty, decorated with furs, feathers, bones and dried plants. This, and the various simple foods and bitter herbal teas he found left by the side of his makeshift bed reminded him of the old indigenous people of the Americas.

Frankenstein was not sure whether the ancient werewolf woman was the product of his feverish dreams or reality. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he could recognize her by the fire, a couple of feet away from him. "You are awake, child." Her voice sounded coarse, and she did not open her eyes. "You must eat."

When was the last time someone had called him a child? Normally, Frankenstein would react with annoyance – but her face was so old and worn, he felt like she must already have been old when he was a child indeed. He propped himself up on his elbow and felt nauseous for a second. Slowly. After having been bedridden for so long, he must not expect himself to be able to move around the way he was used to.

Slowly, Frankenstein sat up and reached for the bowl of clay. A wooden spoon, carved by hand. Normally, he would have shunned the cold, under-seasoned stew of simple root vegetables with chunks of cooked meat of uncertain origin, but right now... He did not even realise how hungry he was until he started eating. As he ate, he kept a close eye on the old woman. Periodically, she opened her eyes to stare into the void – milky, glassy eyes. Could werewolves go blind?

"Who are you?"
"Most refer to me as the Wise Woman."
"And do you have a name?"
"Not anymore. I am but a spiritual guide to my people – or those who still remember the old ways, that is."

Frankenstein always has been a worldly, irreverent man who shunned all that was religious, spiritual and mystical, and even had struggled with the mere existence of nobles and werewolves the first time he realized humanity was not all there is in this world. In this situation, however, he lacked his usual desire to mock any person connected to shamanistic and spiritual practices and traditions. This woman... did help him after all.

"How did I end up here?", he asked between two spoonfuls of 'soup'. He set down the bowl and t
took a sip of the 'tea'. A blend of herbs he did not recognize by taste.
"The trees spoke of you. The wind carried the scent of blood, ash and you. How did you end up in the Lordswood, human?"
"I have no idea what you are talking about. I was in battle - " Frankenstein closed his eyes. Four against one. He'd allowed Dark Spear to consume him wholly, and in that moment, he had accepted his inevitable death. "... I did not die."
The woman nodded with a hum. "You were barely alive. The battles all took place by the coasts and the woods, not up here in the mountains – how did you get there?"

Frankenstein resisted the urge to rub at his temples and picked up the bowl of soup. How did he get there, exactly? Dark Spear had something to do with it, that much he knew – for he no longer felt its energy at all. Without his lover's menacing presence, more than half of his soul felt like it was missing entirely. What was he without the sweet call of madness? He did not answer, and he assumed his silence was enough for the woman.

"The Lordswood is a sacred place, where the Lords of the past, and their offspring, lie buried. You must have washed up there for a reason."

Lords... Could it be? Such a place must store a great deal of energy, then, the echoes of the auras of all the Lords these lands have known – and a theory began to form in the back of Frankenstein's mind. One he was too tired to pursue at this moment, for exhaustion crept up on him once more.