CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - NIGHTMARE

The sound of synchronised footsteps thundered down the hallway toward the meeting chamber. Two Luyas Knights halted sharply before the heavy double doors. One of them knocked twice. A voice from within gave permission to enter.

They stepped inside and saluted the imposing man seated in the shadows, his broad back turned to them, arms crossed.

“General Tal. We’ve received word from our troops on the eastern front. There’s… bad news, sir.”

One of the Knights swallowed hard before continuing. “Someone managed to slip past our perimeter and is heading north. Our men are in pursuit.”

“I see,” Tal replied, his tone unusually calm.

Too calm.

The Knights stiffened, dread crawling down their spines. Tal finally turned in his chair. His black eyes glinted with malice, and in one hand, he held a delicate glass of crimson liquor.

“Anything else you’d like to report?” His voice was low, dangerous. “Anything else that slipped past your lowly and pathetic visions?”

The glass shattered in his grip.

Both Knights flinched. Before they could react, Tal was on them—swift and merciless. He cornered them like prey, his towering frame swallowing the flickering candlelight. His blade flashed—a whisper of steel—and hovered inches from their foreheads.

A thin red line appeared across their skin. Blood dripped silently.

“Report to me once you’ve found the target. And do not kill her. I want her alive. Understood?”

“U-understood, sir! R-right away!”

“Good. Now get out… before I change my mind.”

They didn’t wait. The Knights scrambled out like terrified vermin, not daring to look back.

From the shadows, a smooth, unhurried voice echoed lazily. “Must you scare them to death every time, Tal?”

Only a silhouette was visible, but Tal knew it well.

“I didn’t take you for a complainer, Sage,” he muttered, wiping the blood from his blade.

“Did he talk yet?”

“No. Just kept begging for mercy. Pathetic.”

Without another word, Tal strode deeper into the chamber, where the light faded to a murky glow.

Three candles illuminated a single man tied to a chair, slumped and broken.

Once the proud Lord of Luyas, Ranfel now looked hollowed by pain. His noble garments were shredded, bruises darkened his skin, and blood crusted along his split lip.

Tal circled him slowly, like a vulture.

“Someone decided to play the hero,” he said coldly. “Escaping the kingdom, hoping to summon outside help.”

He scoffed. “Humans are always fascinating—so desperate for justice, so hungry for power. It’s almost laughable.”

Ranfel didn’t answer. He could barely lift his head.

Tal’s voice deepened, a shadow thickening around it. “I suppose your daughter might be the same.”

Ranfel’s head jerked up, rage burning through his pain. “What have you done to my daughter?!”

He struggled violently against his bonds.

“Relax,” Tal drawled. “Your brave girl slipped past my guards. She’s heading north—probably toward the Lord there.”

He chuckled. Even through the haze of pain, Ranfel could hear the smirk in his voice.

“But I doubt she’ll make it. My best men are on her trail. And don’t worry—I told them not to kill her. Not yet.”

With eerie calm, Tal reached behind him, pulled a bow from his back, and fired an arrow straight into the portrait of Luna on the wall.

“NO!”

Ranfel’s scream tore through the chamber.

He broke down, sobbing. “Please! I’ll do anything. Just spare my family. They have nothing to do with this!”

“That’s not what the Queen said. According to her, your bloodline owes her plenty.”

“Then take me! Tell her I’ll pay any price—just don’t touch them! PLEASE!”

For a fleeting moment, Tal fell silent. Ranfel clung to that pause like a lifeline. It was the first flicker of hope he’d felt in days. Maybe… maybe he could reach this fool.

But then Tal’s eyes hardened. The mercy had passed. Orders were orders.

From behind the curtain, Sage’s voice returned. “Sir?”

“Make sure the girl doesn’t reach any border. Bring her back to me. Dead.”

“Understood.”

Sage melted into the shadows.

Tal stepped closer, staring down at Ranfel. “Pathetic. A man who sold his soul to the devil now begs to buy it back. You reap what you sow.”

He turned away, his cloak sweeping the floor.

Ranfel’s scream echoed as the chamber doors slammed shut, the lock clicking into place.

And thus, the former Lord became a prisoner in the very castle he once ruled.

***

The bright red flame of the bonfire was the only light in the deepest part of the forest that night.

A small campsite stood nestled beneath towering pines. Three travellers had stopped to rest—forced to camp outdoors for the first time in weeks instead of sleeping in an inn.

The reason was simple. They had chosen the long route through the forest to reach their next destination: the Kingdom of the Rose, where the youngest man ever crowned king awaited them.

Shinji Karou hated the cold.

No matter how many times he rubbed his hands together or hovered them over the fire, the chill clung to him like frost. Even wrapped in a thick blanket and an even thicker jacket he’d bought “just in case” back in Eden City, the cold gnawed through.

Sighing to no one in particular, Shinji lay on his back and closed his eyes, trying to relax his muscles and let sleep claim him.

At last, warmth began to seep into his bones. Slowly, his body eased, and his mind drifted.

For once, his world felt quiet.

No shouting—though to be fair, he was usually the one doing the shouting.
No councils barking orders.
No bastards trying to kill him every other day.

Only stillness. A rare, fleeting calm.

Yet one thought refused to fade: the Spirits.

Their aggression. Their growing violence. Especially the chaos erupting back home in the Kingdom of Luyas.

Shinji frowned, eyes still closed.

He hoped his family was safe. He longed to return to them—to his clan—no matter how heavy his current responsibilities weighed.

Among the White Wolf Clan, it was a known truth: only Shinji could purify the Spirits. That burden, that power, belonged to him alone. And with his Chosen Apprentice, Mika, only the two of them could hope to end the war.

So why, then, did unease gnaw at him now?

Yes, they’d come far. Yes, the path ahead was clearer than ever. But each step closer to their goal raised the stakes higher. Still, Shinji believed they would survive.

He had to believe it.

Shinji sighed again, rolling onto his side and pushing the thoughts away. His eyes drifted toward his companions—both asleep.

His gaze lingered on the only female among them, lying opposite the bonfire.

Mika.

He had always cared for her—more than he’d ever admit. Others, especially within the Clan, had assumed he harboured romantic feelings for her: the way he protected her, the way he stayed close, even when they were children.

He couldn’t blame them. But they were wrong.

Those closest to him—his sister, their Guardian—knew the truth. The bond he and Mika shared had always been deeper than romance. She was his childhood friend. His family. The girl he’d once freed from the grasp of buttress roots long before naming her his Apprentice.

He had the love of his sister, the loyalty of his clan, but none had given him what Mika had: companionship.

She was the one who had erased the loneliness that haunted him since boyhood—the one who let him be himself.

Not a leader. Not a young Lord.

Just a boy laughing under the sun.

He would always cherish her for that. Forever.

Unlike five years ago, this time, he would die to protect her.

Shinji’s gaze shifted to the loud snoring beside him — Kazuo, his sworn protector and oldest friend, who was using a tree root as a pillow. They had known each other since they were seven, once inseparable. Until tragedy tore them apart.

Bad blood lingered still. An unspoken ghost between them.

Kai, Kazuo’s older brother.

Though Kazuo often acted the fool and their bickering never ceased, Shinji knew the truth: Kazuo had every right to hate him. After all, he was responsible for Kai’s death. That truth would never fade.

Shinji looked down at his trembling hands.

These hands. They had once been soaked in Kai’s blood. The guilt was a wound that never healed.

But Shinji had learned to live with it, rather than to let it consume him quietly. Because Kazuo had already forgiven him.

***

Dawn arrived five hours later. The sun rose with quiet majesty, its golden rays piercing through the canopy, chasing away the last chill of the night.

Even before the first light touched the camp, one of the three had already stirred.

Mika stood at the edge of the clearing, watching the distant hills where morning mist lingered like a silver veil.

Lord Eden’s parting words echoed in her mind:

“From here onwards, head north—to the Kingdom of the Rose. You will need the Master Oracle’s guidance to reach the Red Line. The road will be long and arduous. But fear not, Princess. You have trusted companions beside you. They walk the same path, and in times of doubt, they will guide you. Remember: Courage is stronger and will overcome fear.”

Mika breathed deeply, allowing herself a small smile. With one last glance at the rising sun, she turned back toward camp.

By the time she returned, both Kazuo and Shinji were awake. Kazuo was stuffing sleeping bags into his oversized pack while Shinji, half-asleep with a toothbrush hanging from his mouth, was preparing rice balls for breakfast.

“Morning, my lovely Princess,” Kazuo greeted, hair sticking in every direction. “How are you coping in this frozen slice of paradise?”

“Morning, Kazuo,” Mika laughed, helping fold a blanket. “I’m good. You?”

“I feel great just lookin’ at you, Your Highness,” he winked, entirely unbothered by his dishevelled state.

When they finished packing, Mika joined Shinji by the fire and offered to take over breakfast so he could wash up by the river.

A little later, as they ate, Kazuo spoke between mouthfuls. “Sleep all right?”

“It was okay,” Mika replied. “Just a bit too cold for comfort.”

Without warning, Kazuo pulled her into a dramatic embrace. “Oh, you poor delicate flower! Why didn’t you say anything? I’d have gladly shared my sleeping bag—”

Thunk.

A pebble struck the back of his head.

“OW—what the hell!” he shouted, glaring at Shinji’s unamused expression.

“I take my eyes off you for one minute and you’re already hitting on my Apprentice.”

“I love women! Is that so wrong?!”

“Stop hitting on my Apprentice!”

Mika slipped away quietly as the two continued their familiar bickering. She carried her rice ball to a quiet spot, eating in peace as their voices faded into the rustle of the forest.

When she finished, she rose and stretched for the day’s journey. Her eyes drifted back toward them; they were now eating in sulking silence.

Then something changed.

Her smile faded. Her nose twitched.

“Do you smell that?” she asked.

Kazuo sniffed. “Smell what? I don’t smell anything.”

“I smell something,” Shinji said, pointing ahead. “Over there.”

Before either could stop her, Mika bolted in that direction, ignoring Kazuo’s shout. The scent grew sharper, slicing through the crisp air—metallic and cold.

Blood.

And not just a few drops.

Mika followed the trail along the riverbank until the smell became suffocating. Her boots splashed into damp soil as she spotted something tangled in the underbrush—strands of chestnut hair, soaked with blood.

Her breath caught.

No…

Mika ran forward, heart pounding, branches slapping against her arms—then froze.

Time stopped.

A body lay before her, carved open by brutal gashes, blood pooling darkly beneath.

She didn’t scream. She couldn’t.

Only the forest whispered, the rising sun bearing witness in silence.

***

“MIKA!”

Kazuo’s voice echoed through the trees, raw with panic. “Damn it, where did she go?!”

“Oi, Shinji! Anything on your side?”

Shinji stepped from the thicket, something glinting in his palm. “No sign of her. But I found this.”

Kazuo squinted. A familiar jade pendant dangled from its broken chain.

“Is that…”

“Yeah,” Shinji said quietly. “The same pendant I gave Guy before we left Eden.”

He remembered the exchange clearly. Before their departure, Shinji had pulled Guy aside. The tension between them was sharp, unspoken.

“I won’t deny what had occurred in the past without evidence,” Shinji had said. “About the White Wolf claimed to have invaded your castle. Maybe even killed your mother. I can’t change the past. But I can at least acknowledge it now.”

From his pocket, Shinji drew out a jade pendant. “This was given to me as a child as a gift from one of our esteemed Hunters. He’s gone now. Suicide. I was told it came from the Lady of the Northern Castle.”

He tossed it gently. Guy caught it and froze.

“This… this was my mother’s,” he whispered, turning it over. “Her name’s engraved here. Theresa. She wore this every day.” His hands trembled. Jade had been her favourite.

Shinji exhaled. “Then, that’s your proof. As leader of the White Wolf, I take full responsibility. If you want justice, I’ll arrange something with my Clan. Not out of pity, out of honour. You decide, Guy.”

Guy had held the pendant tightly, silent for a long time. “Understood. I’ll think about it.”

***

“Shinji!” Kazuo shouted, pointing across the water. A lone figure knelt on the ground. “Over there!”

They ran. When they finally reached Mika, everything stopped.

Mika knelt in the shallows, her hands soaked in blood, trembling as she tried to resuscitate the unmoving figure beneath her. Tears streamed down her face, silent and relentless.

“Don’t die,” she whispered again and again. “Don’t die… please… please…”

“Mika!” Kazuo dropped beside her, gripping her shoulders. Her skin was ice cold, her lips pale.

“Mika. Look at me.” She didn’t.

“Look at me!” Kazuo snapped. Her eyes finally met his—wide, broken.

“Help her,” Mika begged. “She needs help. Please… please!”

Kazuo pulled her into a tight embrace, then turned to Shinji. “We need to—”

A scream split the morning.

They turned.

A man stood frozen, one hand over his mouth, eyes wide with horror as tears streamed freely down his face.

“Guy,” Shinji breathed.

He had come at the sound of their voices, ready to speak of Eden—only to find a nightmare waiting.

There, lying in a pool of blood, her chestnut hair matted and torn, her body carved by brutal gashes— Luna.

His sister.