Chapter 10 – Shadows in the Dark

Capital City of Magick, Kingdom of Mana

The wind howls outside, brushing against the stained glass of her room.

Elysia lies on the soft cotton sheets of the inn's top floor, one hand behind her head, eyes closed—but not asleep. The dull ache in her body from last week’s wyvern hunt still lingers. Her sword rests within arm's reach, and a half-polished dagger gleams faintly under the candlelight.

Then, it happens.

BOOM!

A muffled explosion shakes the floor beneath her.

Shouts follow. Urgent, panicked, loud.

“SOMETHING’S HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!!”
“CALL THE KNIGHTS! HURRY!”

Her eyes snap open.

In a flash, she’s on her feet, fastening the straps of her tunic while grabbing her blade. Footsteps thunder through the hallway outside. Her silver hair sways as she swings the door open.

Downstairs, the guild is chaos.

Adventurers scramble, some still half-drunk, others armed and ready. The air reeks of sweat, steel, and fear.

Oswald—her mage partner—rushes toward her, his usual composed face twisted with worry.

“Elysia!! We’ve got a situation!”

“What happened?” she demands, voice cool and sharp.

The Guildmaster, a grizzled man with scars like battle maps on his face, stomps into the room, shouting over the din.

“There’s an attack! Just outside the East Wall!”

An adventurer barrels in, breathless, blood trickling down his forehead.

“It’s... It’s an orc army! Not just a mob—they’re organized! Shields, formation, command structure!”

“That’s got to be—” Elysia starts.

“No speculations!!” the Guildmaster barks. “Get your gear. All hands to the wall, now!!”

Oswald curses under his breath, tugging on his mage robe. “No word from the Royal Knights. No response from the Summoned Heroes either.”

“Wait—what?” Elysia’s eyes narrow. “The city’s under siege and they’re not even—?!”

“RAISE THE BELL!” the Guildmaster roars.

The crisis bell tolls moments later—deep, thunderous clangs echoing through the heart of the capital. A sound no citizen wants to hear. The sound of war.

Meanwhile – The Eastern Tower, Royal Quarters

In a grand room lined with velvet and polished mahogany, Luna stares out the wide window, arms crossed. Her feline ears twitch.

Far in the distance—beyond the white spires and noble manors—a wall burns red.

Smoke. Fire. Chaos.

Her tail flicks sharply.

“...The east wall.”

She turns on her heel, grabbing her cloak from the chair. Her rapier gleams as she fastens it to her belt.

Two maids rush in, their faces pale.

“Princess Luna—”

“Get the civilians into the shelter tunnels beneath the garden. Now.”

“Y-Yes, Princess!”

“And send word to General Ios—tell him we’re under attack. I want the 3rd and 4th battalions on the wall before dawn.”

“Right away!”

As they scramble out, Luna tightens her gloves, her face unshaken.

“Orcs... This reeks of someone’s design. And where are the so-called ‘heroes’ when they’re needed most?”

Her eyes narrow, glowing faintly under the moonlight.

Back at the Guild – Near the City Gates

Elysia and Oswald join the other adventurers rushing through the city. The streets are lit by torches, civilians peeking from windows, guards yelling instructions. Panic rises like steam.

They arrive at the eastern gate, where the walls tremble under repeated impacts.

THOOM. THOOM. THOOM.

“Brace the barricades!! Archers, ready formations!!”

Above, a handful of tired soldiers fire arrows from the walls. But it’s clear—they’re overwhelmed.

And the knights?

Nowhere in sight.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Oswald mutters, readying his staff. “Why isn’t the capital guard deployed? Why now?”

Elysia exhales, drawing her blade. Her eyes lock onto the distant dark tide.

“We don’t have time for why. We hold the wall—or we all burn.”

Just beyond the firelight, a formation of orcs march—shoulder to shoulder. Armor. Banners. Some carry black steel halberds. Others ride beasts.

At the very front, a monstrous orc—larger than the rest—howls into the night sky, and the army charges forward with a roar that rattles the heavens.

The wind bites hard at her cheeks as Elysia rises above the battlements. The sky is painted in red and black — firelight dancing across the stone, smoke curling like serpents into the night sky.

Then she sees it.

A sea of enemies.

“damn…”

A line of orcs—endless, disciplined, armored—stretches far beyond the tree line. Shields locked. War drums beating. Torches raised. Standards flapping like wings of death.

“This could get us overrun!!”

She grits her teeth and tightens her grip on her bow.

The defenders around her panic. Arrows fly. The wall shakes from siege fire. Screams echo from below as monstrous howls pierce the smoke.

CLANG!

CRACK!

Suddenly, an orc—bigger than the others, brimming with berserker rage—climbs over the edge of the wall, leaping toward her with a monstrous roar.

“Tch—!”

Elysia try to parry, but—

FLASH!

A streak of silver drops between them.

With a single elegant slash, the orc is cleaved through, thrown from the wall like trash.

She turns.

Luna.

Dressed in sleek, light ceremonial armor, her white cloak torn and blood-stained. A silver helm rests upon her feline ears, her eyes blazing with battle fury. Her rapier gleams like moonlight.

“Warriors!!!” she yells, her voice commanding. “Hold steady! Bring these foul beasts to the Abyss!!”

“RAAAHHHHH!!”

The defenders rally with a war cry, surging back toward the breach. The bell tolls louder. The flames roar higher. Arrows rain from the heavens like deadly snow.

Back-to-back, Elysia and Luna hold the narrow ledge of the wall.

“They’re everywhere,” Elysia mutters, slicing through a smaller orc lunging from the rampart. “This wall won’t last much longer…”

“We hold until Randy arrives!” Luna shouts, parrying a blow with a deflective twist and sending a spear straight through the enemy’s throat.

Elysia grits her teeth. “You really think he’ll make it in time?”

“Yes… I believe in him.”
Her voice softens slightly. “That weapon... that ship...”

Their swords clash in tandem—synchronizing in rhythm. Warriors surround them, hearts beating fast.

—7 Days Earlier—

Deep Forest of Gladius – 500 miles from Carnac

A quiet breeze stirs the treetops as Randy steps over a root, brushing aside a curtain of vines. His improvised leather armor clinks softly, crossbow slung across his back, and a half-drawn map in hand.

Behind him, Seraphina slithers forward, her Naga tail swaying effortlessly between mossy stones. The glint of her spear rests across her shoulder like a staff of royalty.

Kline, half asleep, munches on dried fruit. And Elowen, ever cheerful, leads them confidently through the green gloom.

“This spot is a safe place,” Elowen says, her voice cheerful. “We should make camp here. We’re close now… just a day’s hike to Albius, my hometown.”

“Thank the gods,” Kline mumbles. “My feet are gonna declare independence.”

Randy drops his pack, scanning the surroundings instinctively.

Rule #4: Secure the perimeter before sundown.

A habit drilled into him by his uncle. His eyes scan the undergrowth, his ears tuned to the rustling of distant fauna.

“Randy,” Seraphina says with a teasing grin, curling her tail around his boot. “You’re always so serious when we camp. Maybe you’d sleep better if I shared your tent tonight~”

“No thanks,” he replies flatly. “I’d like to wake up alive and un-poisoned.”

“Ohoho, you wound me!”

Elowen laughs, setting up her portable forge like it’s second nature. Kline starts mixing potions by the fire.

Randy pulls out his blueprint notebook, the pages smudged with charcoal and streaked from countless drafts. He flips to a particular design — a ship unlike anything in this world.

Steam-powered.
Reinforced hull.
Experimental propulsion.

And most importantly, cannon ports along the sides.

Elowen leans over Randy’s shoulder, eyes fixed on the sketch in the flickering firelight.

“Hey… this design,” she says quietly, “it really looks like the warships from the Demon Kingdom in the North. Their technology… it’s similar to what you’re using now.”

Randy’s heart skips. The Demon Kingdom isn’t just a legend of demons; it’s something much bigger.

If I could reach there… maybe I’d find answers. Maybe a way back.

“Forget it.” Kline’s voice breaks through Randy’s thoughts.

“Huh? Why?” Randy looks up.

“There’s a massive forcefield covering the entire kingdom,” Kline explains, tapping his staff. “No one has ever entered it. It’s like an invisible wall of magic.”

Randy swallows, but his mind won’t let go of the thought. The Demon Kingdom might hold the key to their return.

He looks down at his gear, pride swelling in his chest.

Elowen’s skills have been crucial to their equipment’s success.

Suddenly, Kline steps forward. “Mind if I check your status?”

“Huh? Sure. Attributum.”

A glowing window pops up. Kline’s eyes scan it, then freeze.

“Anti-magic? Never heard of this. What is it?”

“Not even Luna knows,” Randy replies.

Kline smirks and taps his staff twice. His eyes glow blue.

“Anti-magic means you’re completely immune to magic. No spells, no curses can affect you.”

Seraphina speaks softly from the side, “That’s a rare trait. Legend says one of the ancient heroes—a Valkyrie who defeated the First Demon Lord—had that ability.”

Randy looks down, thinking about the tale.

“Well, it’s a blessing and a curse,” Kline says.

“Why?”

“Magic can’t harm you, but it can’t heal you either.”

Randy frowns. “Then why does your alchemy work?”

Kline grins. “Alchemy, you dumbass! That’s science, not magic. Of course it works.”

Randy chuckles, relieved.

Elowen teases, “Just don’t get yourself killed before we reach the Demon Kingdom.”

The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows. Beyond the hills lies the impossible — and Randy’s heart pounds with fear, hope, and stubborn determination.

The journey is long… and soaked in sweat, blood, and scorched dirt.

They’ve fought off razorbacks in the canyon passes. Slain twisted forest ogres that moved under moonlight. Bandits tried their luck — tried. Kline’s alchemical explosions reduced half their camp to smoldering craters. Seraphina’s bladed spear danced like liquid death through the trees. Elowen’s hammer cracked bones like walnuts.

And Randy?
He didn’t even flinch. Dual revolvers in hand, cloak billowing, heart steady.

But today… today is different.

The forest thins. The sky widens. A breeze hits them with scents both foreign and familiar — roasted meats, sunbaked stone, beast sweat, and merchant spice.

Randy squints ahead.

They crest a hill, and the view sprawls out before them — a grand trade road stretching into the horizon, busy with movement and color.

Dozens of caravans travel the path. Some pulled by proud, muscle-bound horses. Others by glittering unicorns, their manes shimmering with enchantment. Towering land dragons stomp past slowly, their reins held by leather-clad merchants. One wagon rolls by atop the back of a giant Moa bird — a species Randy could’ve sworn was extinct on Earth.

“Seems like this road is a busy one…” Seraphina mutters, now standing upright in human form, her long indigo hair tied loosely, her serpent tail hidden beneath enchantment. Her bladed spear rests across her back, quiet but deadly.

Randy lets out a whistle. “This… is insane.”

Elowen adjusts the massive hammer strapped to her back and smirks, arms crossed under her smith’s apron. “Impressive, huh? Welcome to the edge of civilization, lad.”

She thumps her boot down on the road with a proud stomp. Dust rises. Her short frame radiates confidence and fire.

“This is the eastern gate route,” she continues. “One of the busiest in the continent. And beyond those borders—” she jerks a thumb toward the fortified gate towers in the distance, “—lies the Kingdom of Ut Lo. The Beast Kingdom.”

Randy turns toward Seraphina, watching her stare into the distance.

“Right… that’s your homeland, isn’t it?”

Seraphina nods. Her expression is unreadable at first — too still. But then, she lifts her chin, and her golden eyes sharpen.

“I can’t return without honor,” she says. Her voice is calm, yet filled with quiet thunder.

Elowen glances sideways but says nothing. She knows better than to interrupt a naga when she speaks of pride.

Seraphina’s tone softens — just barely. “I left in shame. My clan… they don’t forgive easily. If I return empty-handed, I’ll be seen as a coward. An exile.”

Randy scratches the back of his neck, the wind tugging at his coat. “Guess we better make sure you don’t show up empty-handed, then.”

Kline chuckles from behind, arms folded, a faint green shimmer dancing between his fingertips. “She could always carry Randy in and say, ‘Look, I brought a talking bullet sponge.’”

Later, on the trail...

“Oi,” Randy grumbles, tossing a glare over his shoulder. “I’m the one who saved your alchemy bag from going boom last week.”

“Details,” Kline shrugs, walking ahead with his usual smugness, cloak fluttering behind him.

Seraphina smirks, brushing her midnight-blue hair over one shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you get crushed... yet.”

“Oh, how noble,” Randy deadpans.

Elowen lets out a roaring laugh, hammer thumping the ground once with a metallic thunk.

“Alright, enough flirting,” she grins. “Let’s move on!!”

Their laughter fills the air—but only briefly.

Because behind their teasing lies something else: a quiet tension that never truly fades.

They all know what waits ahead—not just a city, but something heavier.

Politics. Tribal boundaries. Ancient laws none of them fully understand.

And for Seraphina... memories she tried to leave behind.

Still, their feet move. Forward. Always forward.

Toward the gate. Toward the unknown.

Albius—The Capital Jewel of the Beastkin

As they pass through the grand iron gates flanked by stone lion statues, Albius unfolds before them like a painting come to life.

Randy’s jaw slackens once again.

The city is a mesmerizing fusion of medieval charm and renaissance grandeur, with cathedral-like towers, vibrant open-air bazaars, and airships hovering in the distance.

Clean marble paths wind through arching bridges and garden courtyards. Even the street lamps sparkle like crystal.

“…Okay, this is insane,” Randy murmurs.

“You think this is insane?” Kline chuckles. “Listen to this—”

He slaps Randy on the back like he's about to deliver the punchline to the world’s longest joke.

“The capital of the Magick Kingdom? The one we always talk about?”

“Yeah?”

“Backwater dump compared to this place.”

“Eh?” Randy blinks.

“No, really. You know why?” Kline grins like he’s about to drop a bomb.

Randy sighs. “Yeah… why?”

“Because of the King.”

“Elaborate, potion boy.”

“Elowen?” Kline gestures.

The dwarf woman smirks and crosses her arms. “He means King Fu Xi. Hero of Mana. Defender of the Kingdom during the Siege of Shadows. Practically a living legend.”

Randy whistles. “Sounds like a big deal.”

“More than that,” Kline adds, eyes glinting. “He’s also the strongest candidate to become High King of the Eastern Lands.”

“…Don’t tell me.”

“Yup.” Kline’s grin stretches across his face like a boy with a secret. “He’s a catfolk. Just like Luna.”

Randy's eye twitches at the mention of her name.

“So… what does that mean exactly?” he asks, not sure if he wants the answer.

“It means,” Seraphina finally speaks, her voice low and sultry, stepping forward as her bladed spear glints under the city’s light, “this city isn’t just a checkpoint. It’s the beginning of something far bigger.”

A chill runs down Randy’s back.
He gulps. “…Great.”

The towering gates of Albius open to a world unlike anything Randy has ever seen. Bustling, vibrant, full of color and sound. The streets are alive—elves bartering with beastkin, dwarves laughing from open taverns, humans singing in alleyways, and the occasional drakonid playing a flute while levitating three stones at once.

It’s a melting pot of magic and metal, a city that breathes on its own rhythm.

Randy’s eyes dart from one food stall to another, entranced by the aromas. Skewered meat dripping with glaze, bright fruits glowing faintly with enchantments, and pastries floating gently behind a bakery window.

Something about it tugs at him. A memory maybe.

“…This place,” he mutters under his breath. “It’s kinda like home.”

Kline walks beside him, arms behind his head, lazily smirking. “You know Randy… back at the capital, the Kingdom of Magick looks like a backwater swamp compared to this place.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. And you know why?”

“…Why?”

Kline’s voice lowers with a grin. “Because of the man who rebuilt it. King Fu Xi. The Hero of Mana. The one who saved the realm when the Veil ruptured. He’s not just royalty—he’s a living legend. Closest thing this world has to a god.”

“Elowen,” Randy turns to the dwarf, “please tell me this is all a joke.”

Elowen cracks her knuckles with a grin. “Nope. And King Fu Xi isn’t related to King Lozla either.”

Kline adds with a smirk, “And get this… he’s a catfolk. Just like Luna. Sooo…”

“Yeah?” Randy raises an eyebrow.

“So maybe your girlfriend’s royalty material,” Kline snickers.

“I’M GONNA PUNCH YOU!!” Randy swings, but Kline ducks, laughing.

Elowen steps in, her booming voice cutting through their bickering. “Enough chit-chat! Let’s head to the blacksmith. I’ve been dying to meet them.”

She points ahead toward a towering building bellowing steam and smoke.

Me and Kline: 😲😳

“IT’S HUGE!!” Randy shouts.

“IT’S A DAMN FACTORY!!” Kline yells.

Elowen growls, stomping the ground once with her hammer. “It’s a forge, you brainless twig!! A glorious, proper, blood-sweating forge!!”

“Amazing…” Seraphina mutters in awe, eyes reflecting the glowing ember light of the massive smelting lines within.

Then—he hears a voice.

A whisper.

“So… you’ve reached there already, huh?”

Randy freezes.

Another voice follows.

“Hey! That’s not fair! I want to join toooo!” Its Elysia

He glances at the pendant Luna gave him—the one he thought was just for emergencies.

“…Don’t tell me this thing’s a body camera too.”

In his mind:
“Yeah… more like a surveillance device again…”

“I heard that!!” Luna's voice snaps in his ear, full of smug fire.
“You're not off the leash just yet.”

Randy groans. “Fine! Fine! Just don’t eavesdrop when I’m in the bath…”

“No promises~.”

Kline snorts beside him. “Still whipped by the long-distance catgirl, huh?”

“I SWEAR I WILL STRANGLE YOU!”

Their voices echo as the group finally steps into the forge, the air dense with heat, flame, and the sound of steel meeting steel. Elowen’s eyes sparkle. Seraphina’s tail coils with interest.

The journey through Albius had only just begun.

But something deeper stirs behind the laughter and sparks.
Whispers from the past. Political currents they can’t see.
And eyes—watching from the shadows of the forge.

Kingdom of Mana – Royal Capital
Lozla Palace, East Wing – Princess Luna’s Private Chambers

The rustling of parchment echoes beneath the golden rays that slip through the tall stained glass windows. Princess Luna sits at her long oak desk, head slightly bowed, her elegant fingers dancing across scroll after scroll—ink smudged on her thumb, yet her composure is unfazed.

Unlike her father, King Lozla, who enjoys the warmth of luxury and the hollow praises of the court… or her half-sister Verica, whose days are drowned in tea parties and empty flattery, Luna shoulders the real weight of the crown.

She’s still young—barely sixteen. But her eyes hold a sharpness, like tempered steel, carved from years of silent duty.

“…Royal food reserves misallocated…?”

Her eyes narrow behind the soft curtain of her silver hair as she scans one of the scrolls. She flips another. Her breath hitches.

Princess Verica’s seal… again?

“…The hell is this?” she mutters. “This fund was meant for stabilizing the southern farmlands… not… armor requisitions for the so-called ‘Chosen Heroes’?”

A deep sigh escapes her lips. She leans back in her chair, gaze tracing the ornate ceiling.

Her frustration doesn’t end there.

One more document reveals that King Lozla has approved generous tax exemptions and handouts for high-ranking nobles… those who haven’t contributed a single effort to the kingdom’s prosperity. Meanwhile, hardworking border lords are being taxed heavily, their soldiers underfed, their walls left to rot.

This kingdom is rotting from the top.

She stands.

Royal Audience Hall – Moments Later

The great doors creak open with a low groan, and Luna steps into the chamber with purpose. Guards and nobles shift in place, whispering behind embroidered fans.

King Lozla sits lazily on the throne, sipping spiced wine, while Verica lounges at his side, clad in lavish silks, eyes half-lidded in boredom.

Luna bows just enough to be proper.

“Father,” she begins, voice calm but heavy with unspoken tension. “Why is the nation’s budget diverted from agriculture and defense… toward frivolous spending?”

The king’s brows furrow. “That is not for you to worry, Luna. These are… diplomatic gestures.”

Before he can say more, Verica’s honeyed voice cuts in.

“Dear sister,” she chimes sweetly, “surely you understand. We must protect the heroes who protect us, don’t you think?”

“Protecting them is one thing,” Luna replies sharply, “but starving our people to pamper outsiders is another.”

A silence falls.

But Luna, respectful as she is, bows again.

“...Very well. I will not protest. But I pray our ‘heroes’ are worth the cost.”

She turns, storm brewing in her heart, and walks toward the exit.

Palace Courtyard – Twilight

The air is still. The orange sky burns gently above the city walls.

As Luna crosses the courtyard, a tall figure blocks her path.

“Whoa…” he mutters. “You're prettier than the rumors said.”

Alfian.

One of the self-proclaimed ‘Champions’ summoned from another world. His armor is half-undone, his grin smug, eyes trailing her form like a dog eying meat.

Without warning, his gloved hand reaches for her chin.

Click.

A cold blade kisses his throat.

Luna’s rapier gleams in the twilight, barely a whisper away from slicing flesh.

“You may be this nation’s ‘champion’…” she says, eyes emotionless, “but you are not mine.”

Alfian freezes, sweat prickling his brow. His bravado crumbles.

“Y-You bitch…!”

In a flash, his fist flies at her—but she’s already gone.

What follows is not a duel. It’s an execution in disguise.

She weaves around his attacks like a ghost, every step precise, elegant. Her blade dances—slashes, thrusts, parries—relentless like a tempest.

Alfian can’t even scream. He stumbles back, breath ragged, armor shredded at the edges.

His knees buckle.

And then… pffffft—

“...Did he just…?” one of the guards blinks.

Alfian is on the ground, wide-eyed, his pants wet.

Luna sheathes her blade with a practiced motion. Her expression unreadable.

She looks down at the shaking man with pity.

“Maybe next time,” she says softly, “you should look in the mirror… before calling someone a bitch.”

She turns without another glance.

The guards step aside, stunned. Nobles watch from balconies above, whispering in stunned awe.

Before she disappears into the hall, Luna glances over her shoulder—one last parting shot.

“Try acting like a role model, ‘Champion’… or you’ll find your head where your pride used to be.”

The stone corridors of Castle Lozla echo faintly as Alfian stumbles back, each step dragging a bruised ego along with a body still trembling from earlier. He rubs his neck — the phantom of Luna’s blade still lingers there like a cold whisper.

“Tch… damn that woman…” he mutters.

A pair of boots stop in front of him.

“Dumb Alfian…” Marlisa folds her arms, peering down like a scolding sister. Her tone is sharp, but the subtle crease in her brow betrays her worry. “You really don’t know your place, do you?”

“Shut up!” Alfian snaps, limping away with what’s left of his pride. “I don’t need your pity…”

She watches him go without another word. But once he turns the corner, her gaze lifts toward the sky beyond the archways. Behind that blue expanse lies a growing fear in her chest.

“…Randy…” she whispers.

The name feels heavy on her lips.

The boy who was thrown off, while she could not do anything….not even Raul…no one wanted to care…and leaving.. no trace.

“…Raul’s that fool….in his own illusion thinking this is a game and now… and the teachers… they’re just shadows of themselves now…”

She slowly sits on the cold stone bench in the courtyard. A lone breeze brushes past, dancing with her long black braid.

“…What should I do?”

Her voice is fragile.

And then—

“…Lady Marlisa?” a gentle voice calls behind her.

She turns quickly—and finds herself standing face to face with a figure that seems to glow under the sun.

“P-Princess Luna!” she bows deeply.

The royal blue robes ripple softly as Luna steps forward, her expression calm yet alert — a contrast to her younger half-sister's frivolous lifestyle. Her presence commands attention, not through arrogance, but maturity earned through burdens far beyond her years.

“You seemed troubled,” Luna says with grace. “Would you share your worries with me?”

Marlisa hesitates. But seeing the princess’s sincerity… she exhales and speaks.

“…Our teachers… they’re burned out. Some of the students are starting to… break. Homesickness, despair, anxiety. I don’t know how much longer we can hold them together.”

Luna listens intently, her gloved hands gently clasped before her.

“I apologize,” Luna says softly, her voice like a still lake. “This mission was not meant to test the hearts of children. I will consult with the court. Perhaps we can arrange comforts or distractions. Please… give me a little time.”

Marlisa’s eyes widen. “You would… do that for us?”

“Of course,” Luna smiles. “You all came to aid this kingdom, and I have failed to make you feel safe here. That’s on me.”

“Princess Luna…” Marlisa bows again, but her voice now carries gratitude.

“…And one more thing,” Marlisa adds cautiously, eyes searching. “About Randy my classmate that the wizard sent away… Do you… know anything about him? Anything at all?”

For the first time, Luna’s eyes flicker.

A subtle pause.

The wind dies for a second.

She knows. She definitely knows.

“…I’m sorry,” Luna replies softly, masking the truth behind that diplomatic smile. “I’ve spoken to Kuzman. He… still hasn’t found anything either. We’re all concerned.”

“I see…” Marlisa nods, though the disappointment in her voice is unmistakable.

Still, she offers a courteous bow once more. “Thank you, Princess. I’ll be going now…”

As Marlisa walks away, Luna remains still — her hand slowly clenching behind her gown.

“…Forgive me,” she whispers to herself, staring up toward the towering mage’s tower in the far distance. “The truth would only cause more pain…”

But behind her eyes, a storm brews.

Adventurers' Guild – night

The wooden floors creak under every step. Dust motes float lazily through shafts of light piercing the stained-glass windows of the guild's upper hall. The scent of worn leather, sweat, and oil lingers.
In the far corner—where most keep their distance—Elysia narrows her gaze, pulling the bowstring of her custom yew longbow. Her hair tied back, her breathing steady, her aim—deadly.

Thunk!

The arrow splits the center of the straw target with a clean, satisfying impact.

Nearby, cross-legged on a mat, Oswald sits in silent meditation. His hands form arcane gestures, small sparks of mana flickering like stardust between his fingertips. His aura pulses steadily—calm, focused, distant.

Elysia lowers her bow slightly and speaks in a low voice, still watching the target.

“Hey… I found Randy.”

Oswald’s eyes snap open. His glasses slide slightly down his nose, and he adjusts them calmly—but his voice betrays relief.

“Really!?Thank goodness... Where is he? Is he safe?”

She nods.

“He’s alive. And in far safer hands than us, at least...”

Her eyes shift—not toward Oswald, but subtly toward a cloaked figure pretending to sort through a quest board. Her voice lowers further, barely above a whisper.

“...Unlike us, constantly being watched.”

Oswald glances with narrowed eyes. His voice becomes colder.

“So... it’s begun.”

“Yes,” she murmurs. “But for now... we ally with her. Got it?”

He exhales, then stands. The sparks around his hands dim.

“Yeah... as always, I follow you.”

But before they take a step—
Rustle.

The cloaked man makes a slight move—too sudden. Elysia turns on her heel and releases an arrow in the blink of an eye.

THWACK!

The arrow embeds itself cleanly into the man’s leg, dropping him to the floor with a cry of pain.

Elysia approaches, bow still ready.

“So... who are you?”

The man groans, trying to bite back pain. But when he says nothing, Oswald steps forward. His hands glow with blue light, his eyes now shining.

“Let’s try this...”
“Fhuair an fhírinne…”

The spell takes hold. The man's resistance breaks instantly. His mouth moves, compelled to speak the truth.

“I... I only follow orders. From the king… and Princess Verica. We were ordered to keep tabs on you… and your party.”

Elysia’s expression turns to steel.

“Just watching?”

The man gulps.

“No... if you grow stronger than the Chosen Champions... you’ll be deemed a threat.”

“And...?” Elysia presses.

“You’ll be... eliminated.”

Oswald’s fist tightens.

“Ely... this is more dangerous than we thought.”

She pulls back her hood slightly and taps her pendant, the same one Luna gave them.

“Luna… can you hear me?”

A familiar voice rings in her head.

“I hear it... This isn’t good. Hang on. I’m close.”

Clang.

CLANG—SHRRK!

Metal clashes outside, followed by a sickening sound of flesh splitting.

The guild doors burst open.

A figure in obsidian robes, face hidden behind a black mask, steps through the blood-smeared threshold.

Luna.

Elysia doesn’t flinch.

“Took you long enough.”

Luna tosses aside a bloodied dagger.

“Had to clean up some spies along the way.”

Oswald looks around warily.

“Luna… what the hell is going on with your kingdom?”

“I’m not sure anymore,” she admits, her tone unusually bitter.

Elysia narrows her eyes.

“You’re the princess of this kingdom. Don’t tell me you’re in the dark.”

“I am… and that’s what frustrates me,” Luna breathes out. “Everything’s unraveling… and I don’t know who to trust.”

She pauses—eyes shadowed.

“But…”

Suddenly, the air chills. Heavy boots echo from behind.

An old man with robes steps forward from the corridor.

Kuzman the wizard.

Elysia instantly draws her bow again. Her glare is murderous. Her voice venomous.

“Why are you here…?”

Kuzman bows respectfully, ignoring the threat of Elysia’s arrow.

“Lady Luna… I bring word. Your premonitions… were correct.”

Luna’s breath catches.

“Your sister… and your father… have fallen.”

The hall falls into silence.

Luna’s knees nearly buckle, but she steadies herself.

“And what… am I supposed to do now…?”

Her voice cracks—not from weakness, but from unbearable pressure.

Oswald looks away. Elysia’s expression softens, if only slightly.

Then her eyes glow again—sharp, calculating.

“Simple,” Elysia says.

“We fight back.”

To be continued.