CHAPTER TWELVE – RED STORM

Margös, the Spirit Realm, stood a vast and volatile spawling kingdom, the Kingdom of Zágan ruled by the powerful Spirits’ Royal Family. Spreading its dominion across the entire western and half of the southern region, Zágan was both majestic and feared. Its lands were steeped in legend and power, but beneath the splendour seethed tensions forged in centuries of betrayal.

Two other distinct and historic races also resided within Margös: the reclusive Dragöön Clan and the mystic Lè Mägus Tribe. The Dragöön, a proud but dwindling race, lived in seclusion, carving their homes deep into the snow-laced mountain ranges that bridged the northern and southern borders. Long ago, scholars unearthed records of a sacred union — an ancient marriage pact that once bound the Dragöön to the Spirits in harmony. But betrayal shattered that bond, and the Dragöön withdrew into the stone-laced solitude of legend.

To the east, beyond veils of enchanted fog and fiercely protected arcane barriers, lay the secluded domain of the Lè Mägus Tribe. Once honoured as a strategic pillar in the Spirit Royal Family’s military order, they became scapegoats in the aftermath of the Great War a decade past. Banished and blamed, they retreated into myth and secrecy, their magical strongholds humming with forbidden knowledge.

Now, under Queen Reza’s cruel reign, the cunning second wife of the late King Ferid, the Kingdom of Zágan rotted from within. In the market square, a lesser Spirit crumpled under a noble’s whip. Reza’s laughter echoed from her balcony.

Zágan’s soul was rotting, and she revelled in its decay. In her court, cruelty was coin, and power its only law. Every day, the lesser Spirits awoke not to thrive, but to survive.

"Have you found her yet, Advisor Jun?"

The Queen’s voice slithered through the dim chamber, honeyed and sharp. In the flickering torchlight, the red-veined marble floor gleamed like a bloodied mirror. Queen Reza, cloaked in crimson and shadow, lounged upon her throne like a coiled serpent.

Her skin was alabaster, smooth as glass. Jet-black hair spilled over her shoulders like midnight silk, and her red gown shimmered like molten wine, patterned with gold embroidery that curled along her arms like vines. Her mismatched eyes — teal and gold — glinted with venomous patience.

Heavy doors creaked.

Advisor Jun stumbled in, his breaths ragged, and dropped to his knees. "M-My Queen... forgive me! We are searching with all diligence. The Princess—she has eluded every scout, but we are close. I beg you for more time."

Reza's lips barely moved. "How much time do you need to find a red-haired girl who sticks out like blood in snow, Jun? Shall I do it myself?"

Jun whimpered. "P-Please forgive me!"

"How fascinating," came the dry, amused tone interrupted the conversation. A tall figure stepped into the chamber, and the air thickened.

The Queen’s stepson and her greatest thorn arrived in a silent fury. He cladded in black-and-gold armour, carmine hair cascading down his back like fire, a silver-hilted sword bearing the royal sigil at his waist. His emerald eyes swept the room with barely masked contempt.

Without a word, the Prince tossed a scroll at Jun’s feet.

"Reports. Read them."

Jun snatched up the parchment.

"Y-Yes, Your Royal Highness Prince Makai."

Makai turned and walked away.

"And where do you think you're going?" Reza's voice iced over.

He stopped and turned around to glare at her sharply. "You have no command over me."

The doors slammed behind him.

Jun turned, trembling. "Your Majesty..."

Reza’s hands tightened on her throne. "I don’t trust that brat any more than I trust a rogue Dragöön." She snapped her fingers.

From the dark recesses of the chamber emerged five cloaked shadows. Hooded, masked, silent. Their presence chilled the air. Advisor Jun recoiled as they kneeled.

"Arise," Reza said. The tallest among them — a broad-shouldered man in a golden mask — stood.

"General Tal," Reza addressed him. "Have your best agents to shadow the Prince. If he finds the Princess’s whereabouts before I do, I want to know."

Tal nodded.

A silver-haired youth and a strawberry-blonde woman rose silently and bowed. In a blur, they vanished like whispers in the dark.

***

In the living room of the White Wolf Clan’s Mansion, a messenger knelt before two figures standing on the wide, open balcony. Suzumi, poised and graceful, stood bathed in the soft afternoon sun, her expression serene despite the shock that stirred within her upon hearing the latest news from Islez.

Beside her, seated cross-legged on the polished bamboo floor, was a striking woman of dark complexion. Her waist-length midnight hair was tied in a high ponytail, and she exhaled a slow plume of smoke from her elegant pipe.

Unlike most women of her rank, she wore a flowing cream tunic of fine silk—elegant, daring, and tastefully revealing. A golden metallic belt cinched her waist, while eagle-shaped earrings dangled from her ears—a personal gift from someone close.

A snake-shaped gold bracelet coiled around her right wrist. Her sharp hazel eyes, both captivating and severe, fixed on the kneeling messenger with quiet intensity.

"Ralph is dead," Suzumi said, repeating the words softly, the weight of them settling like stone in the quiet air.

"Indeed, Milady," the messenger confirmed. "Despite the conflict upon Lord Shinji’s arrival in Islez, His Lordship insisted the traitor Ralph be buried with honour, alongside the rest of our fallen warriors. Truly, Lord Shinji is a man of remarkable compassion and principle."

Suzumi’s lips curved into a proud, melancholic smile. "And the rest of his companions?"

"They are resting, Milady. I imagine they are weary from the journey and the ordeals they faced. As advised by the Elders, His Lordship will attend the Clan meeting once he has fully recovered."

"Very well. Keep monitoring my brother’s progress."

"Of course. His Lordship and his companions are heading north, to the City of Eden. He seeks Lord Eden Bowyn X’s assistance regarding the passage through the red line."

Suzumi gave a slow nod. "Continue to observe and report back."

With a final bow, the messenger exited the chamber. As the door closed behind him, Suzumi turned toward the woman beside her.

"Did you already know what happened in Islez?"

The woman took a long, thoughtful draw from her pipe, exhaling curling tendrils of smoke. "Perhaps. At least now, we won’t need to worry when Shinji visits that place again."

A sudden knock rang out, loud and hurried. The same messenger burst back in, breathless and flushed.

"My apologies, Miladies! Urgent news from our scouts in Luyas. A Spirit army is advancing rapidly toward the Southern borders! They’re already en route."

Suzumi gasped, her composed mask slipping just slightly.

The messenger’s gaze shifted to the woman, who now stood with effortless command.

"What are your orders, Lady Hiira?"

Hiira let out a final stream of smoke and snuffed out her pipe against the stone railing. Her tone was even, but firm.

"Mobilise the Black Ops. Now."

"Yes, Milady!"

Without hesitation, Hiira, Suzumi, and the messenger swept through the hallways, descending swiftly to the mansion’s front lawn. There, the Black Ops stood ready.

Shrouded in black cloaks, their faces masked except for their steely eyes, they exuded the air of silent predators. Each bore the white wolf tattoo on their right arm—the sacred symbol of their deadly allegiance.

Masters of infiltration, espionage, courier operations, and assassination, they were the Clan’s shadow—its unseen protectors and lethal enforcers. And now, they prepared to intercept the coming storm.

***

Autumn unfurled its golden tapestry across Fulaina, scattering leaves across hills and forested paths. The season’s crisp air danced with the scent of moss and woodsmoke. Birds fluttered through the canopy, filling the morning with birdsong.

In a secluded clearing, gunfire cracked like thunder.

Shinji stood motionless.

His arm extended, smoke still coiling from the barrel of his gun. A cigarette hung loosely between his lips, its ember glowing like a second sun. His violet eyes scanned the surroundings, hawk-sharp. Then —

Swoosh.

A blur rushed toward him. He twisted to the side and rolled smoothly across the ground, discharging two rounds at the figure approaching with deadly speed.

Mika launched at him, twin daggers flashing. From above, she spun, kicked, and struck in rapid succession. Her aggression was unrelenting—a tempest in motion.

Shinji moved like a current—dodging, pivoting, flowing; where Mika struck with fire, he answered with water. He parried her flurry of strikes with ease, noting her technique and rhythm. Despite his concealed injuries, he maintained full control.

Mika pressed harder, her breathing quickening. Every strike screamed with frustration, every dodge mocked her effort. Shinji watched, calculated. Then, he saw an opportunity when Mika aimed for a powerful kick. He sidestepped, then countered with a swift roundhouse that forced her to block.

Mika retaliated with a dagger swipe, forcing him back. Sweat beaded on her brow. And then, he gave a brief, knowing smirk.

He hurled his gun aside and charged. Mika’s eyes widened, raising her arms defensively.

Too late.

Shinji caught her wrists mid-strike, twisted, and drove her down — the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. She lashed out with her foot, hitting his thigh, but he rolled with the blow and pinned her down.

“Giving up?”

Mika spat out dirt and glared at him. “Never.”

Shinji rose smoothly. ‘Sometimes, you’ll need more than blades, Mika. Remember that.”

Applause echoed through the clearing.

“Bravo! Quite the performance,” Kazuo called, strolling in with a cheeky grin. A bright red slap mark bloomed across his cheek.

Shinji didn’t bother to look at him. “Wallus Town?”

Kazuo shrugged. “Peaceful enough. If she stays quiet, no one will suspect a thing.”

“Good.”

Mika eyed his cheek. “What happened to your face?”

Kazuo coughed. “Old lady. Oversized handbag.”

Shinji snorted. “Not because you were ogling her granddaughter?”

“I’ve got standards!” Kazuo cried. “Besides, she’s a kid. I’ll ask her in ten years.”

“Pervert.”

“Visionary,” he corrected with a wink.

Mika groaned under her breath. It was going to be a long journey

Shinji reloaded his weapon. “Let’s move. The forest’s not friendly after dusk.”

They set off, shadows lengthening behind them. The wind stirred the leaves at their feet as the mountains whispered of battles yet to come.

The horizon, just beyond reach, carried the scent of war.

***

A full week had passed since their departure from Islez, where funeral rites were solemnly conducted for the brave Krieger who had perished at the hands of Ralph.

The villagers had gathered with tearful reverence to honour their fallen, and Rinda—true to her overwhelming spirit—had nearly broken Shinji’s ribs in a bear-like hug that left him groaning for breath. With heavy hearts, Shinji and Mika—the apprentice he had chosen—resumed their path, heading steadily toward the Southern Gate.

For a time, the journey was silent. Peaceful. The kind of stillness that feels borrowed, temporary.

Until a voice split the calm like a lightning bolt through still water.

"MIIIKA! SHIIIIIINJI! TAKE ME WITH YOU!!"

They froze.

In the distance, a familiar figure hurtled toward them at breakneck speed. Kazuo, clad in travel gear and strapped with a lumpy backpack, ran like a man possessed. Behind him? Chaos incarnate: a crowd of enraged women armed with gardening tools, brooms, and even a rogue frying pan or two.

"Two of 'em caught me out with a third! Now they ALL want me dead! Save me, Shinji!"

Shinji crossed his arms. "Not my problem. Let’s go, Mika."

"Wait! I’ll cook, I’ll clean, I’ll even carry your gear—just don’t leave me to die!"

Now, as the trio trudged across winding trails under a canopy of autumn leaves, Shinji massaged his forehead with a look of long-suffering resignation.

"Why am I doing this to myself..." he muttered.

***

Mika walked beside him, her lips tugged upward in a faint smile. She had grown surprisingly fond of their dynamic. The once rigid silence had been replaced by a strange, chaotic camaraderie. Behind them, Kazuo was belting out the worst rendition of a love song Mika had ever heard.

"Kazuo’s... definitely one of a kind," she murmured.

Caught mid-note, Kazuo winked at her like a bard with a secret.

"Don’t let him fool you," Shinji warned under his breath.

"What do you mean?"

His voice dropped, thoughtful. "He plays the fool. But there’s something deeper. Something darker. Even after years, I still don’t know what he’s truly thinking. You saw it that night in the forest, didn’t you?"

Mika nodded slowly. That night burned in her memory—Kazuo’s arms wrapped around her, trembling as he shielded her from Ralph’s onslaught. The terror in his eyes. The silent grief.

Shinji’s own thoughts drifted. The forest. Blood on his hands. And Kai’s final breath—

"He may act recklessly… but he has a good heart. Watch over him, Shinji."

His hand clenched tightly at his side.

"Shinji?" Mika’s voice was soft.

He blinked, snapping out of it. "Yeah. I’m good."

But she wasn’t convinced. She saw that faraway silence again—the kind that spoke louder than words.

Then, he slowed.

"I’m sorry," he said suddenly. "I know you have questions—so many. I wish I could answer them all, Mika. But you’re not ready. Not yet. Even the doctors warned me. Your memories... your mind is fragile. The truth could hurt more than heal."

"You haven’t even tried. Maybe I can handle it."

He exhaled smoke, voice gentler now. "Some truths come when the heart is ready. Trust me. You’ll know."

Then he did something that startled her more than his words.

He smiled.

Not a smirk. Not the half-teasing grin he wore during battle. A real smile—warm, kind, almost soft. It reminded her of the rare expression she’d once glimpsed between him and Suzumi. Reserved. Precious.

Her breath caught, and she turned away quickly, feeling heat rush to her cheeks.

They walked in silence.

Until the earth beneath them rumbled.

An explosion boomed in the distance. Trees shuddered. Birds shrieked and scattered.

Black smoke curled into the sky.

***

Kazuo bent down and lifted a scorched wooden signboard from the rubble. The words ‘Welcome To Wallus Town’ were barely legible beneath layers of soot and splintered ash. His hands trembled.

Just hours ago, he had walked these streets—exchanging smiles with the shopkeepers, teasing the baker’s apprentice, joking that the town smelled of cinnamon and warmth. And now... ruin.

Buildings lay gutted, skeletal remains of their former selves. Charred beams jutted skyward like broken bones. Ash drifted like slow, choking snow, blanketing the cobblestones in ghostly grey. The air was thick with the copper tang of blood and scorched earth — a stench that clung to the soul more than the skin.

Shinji unsheathed his pistol with a sharp metallic click. “Stay sharp,” he muttered, his voice low and cold.

They advanced cautiously through the smouldering ruins.

Mika covered her nose with her sleeve. Her emerald eyes swept every shadow, every shattered frame of what had once been a lively town. Then she stopped — frozen.

Bodies. Dozens of them. Piled in the centre of the square like discarded dolls.

Kazuo staggered back, bile rising in his throat. Among the dead, he recognised two elderly women—faces he’d shared tea with. His chest constricted, breath catching on a sound that was half sob, half curse. He turned away, but the image burned behind his eyelids.

Mika’s jaw tightened. Andania surged back to life in her memory—twisted limbs, fire, screams. Her hands trembled, but she forced it down. She would not break again.

“This was one strike,” she murmured. “One blow. Not human. Not Spirit. Something else.”

Shinji crouched beside a mangled corpse, eyes narrowing. “The burns are too precise. Not fire. Energy. Concentrated.”

He stood. “We need to move. Now.”

Kazuo’s fists clenched. “We can’t just leave them. They deserve—”

“Burials won’t matter if we’re next,” Shinji cut in.

Mika raised a hand. “Wait.” Her ears twitched. The faint whistle of air — distant, but growing. “Something’s coming. West.”

A shadow passed above them, vast and fast.

“EVADE!” Shinji roared. They dove apart as something massive crashed into the square.

The earth convulsed. Stone and flame erupted skyward. The shockwave sent Mika tumbling through debris. A green surge flared — Shinji’s barrier expanding, shimmering like liquid glass around them. It caught the brunt of the explosion, fracturing under pressure. Shinji dropped to one knee, blood running down his nose.

“Shinji?!” Kazuo shouted.

The air vibrated with a guttural screech.

Thunderous footsteps. Cracking stone. Out of the haze crawled a nightmare.

A creature — a grotesque fusion of crab and serpent — heaved into view. Over thirty feet long, its obsidian shell gleamed like wet iron, and its eight legs carved trenches into the street. Each claw gleamed like a scythe, and its many crimson eyes glowed with a hunger that wasn’t natural.

Kazuo gaped. “What the hell is that?!”

“RUN!” Shinji barked.

***

Above, the clouds split apart — a violent tear bleeding light.

A figure descended through it, slow and deliberate.

Prince Makai landed upon a ridge overlooking the destruction, his cloak trailing like spilled ink. Emerald eyes flickered open, reflecting the burning town below. The sunlight here was foreign — too warm for the cold-blooded air of Margös.

He drew in a long breath. The scent of fire and smoke. And something else.

Her scent.

“She’s near,” he whispered. A cruel smile curved his lips. “So very near.”

***

Wallus Town burned.

The trio had taken refuge beneath the splintered remains of a home. Dust fell from the ceiling with every tremor as something clawed and scraped above.

Kazuo pressed his shoulder against the trapdoor, teeth gritted. “It’s not leaving! What the hell is that thing?!”

“I think it’s called the Utolips,” Mika whispered. “Thought it was only myth.”

“Someone must have brought it over,” Shinji rasped. “From Margös. The Spirit Realm.”

Kazuo groaned. “Brilliant. So, how do we kill it?”

“Heat, maybe?” Mika replied. “Doesn’t look like anything else will kill it.”

Then, the pounding stopped.

Silence.

Kazuo dared a glance. “Gone?”

The roof suddenly exploded. The Utolips shrieked, hurling molten fireballs that scorched the ground.

The trio bolted through the smoke. Buildings collapsed around them, streets caving under monstrous weight. They found themselves cornered by walls of ruin. Mika’s daggers flared green in the dim light.

“I’ll distract it. Break the wall!” she shouted.

Before Shinji could argue, she was gone — weaving between claws and flame, blades singing as they struck shell. Sparks flew. Every dodge was a heartbeat from death.

Shinji steadied his stance, closed his eyes, and drew on his Chi. The energy coalesced in his palms, white light searing through cracks in the rubble.

“Now!” He released it — a shockwave that blasted through stone, tearing open an escape. He collapsed, barely conscious.

Kazuo caught him. “Mika! Let’s go!”

She leapt toward them, dirt and ash streaking her face. But then—

Thunder cracked. The sky turned violet.

A voice—low, ancient, familiar—spoke in a tongue older than time.

The heavens split open. A bolt of flame twisted mid-air, coiling into the form of a dragon. It roared, struck, and devoured the Utolips whole.

The light faded. Silence fell, broken only by the sound of crackling fire.

Then, another firebolt. Slower. Sharper. Deliberate.

It streaked toward them.

Shinji threw up his trembling hands, Chi flaring in desperate defence. The explosion tore the ground apart. Smoke surged. The recoil threw him back. His vision swam; Kazuo’s shout came from somewhere far away.

“Shinji!” Kazuo coughed, dragging him aside. “Hey! Stay with me!”

But Mika wasn’t moving. She stood motionless, eyes fixed on the smoke.

A figure stepped through the haze.

Tall. Regal. Cloaked in crimson and shadow.

Emerald eyes gleamed beneath the fading firelight.

The air turned cold — too cold. A familiar aura coiled around her heart, heavy and suffocating.

Her head throbbed. A name she couldn’t remember clawed at the edge of her memory.

Her lips parted.

“I... I know.... You.”

The smoke thinned. The world stilled.

Embers drifted through the air like dying stars, casting brief light over his face.

Prince Makai stepped forward, eyes unblinking. The scorched wind parted for him, as though even the flames feared to touch his cloak.

Mika’s knees weakened. Her heartbeat thundered, each pulse a memory she couldn’t reach.
Behind her, Kazuo lifted his weapon.

“Found you.” The newcomer spoke, in a voice that was too calm.

The wind died. Even the flames bowed.