Previously~
The sharp cry of a hawk pierced the air, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade. Moments later, a shadow passed over the window as talons scratched against the stone ledge.
Sophie quickly unwrapped the letter tied to the hawk's feet.
Furrowing her brows she read through the parchment. She motioned to Seradin.
"Seradin, tell the Lord Marshal that we agree to provide support, also… tell Elsa to ready my battle gear."
Seradin's eyes widened, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword. "You would have us help them?" he asked, voice low, uncertain if he'd misheard.
Sophie folded the letter with sharp, practiced precision and slid it into her cloak. Her expression remained calm, but her eyes burned with grim resolve. "We will not stand idle while monsters spill into the heartlands. Whether the church unleashes them or not, the people of Duskrane will be the first to bleed. And if we do nothing, we'll be next."
The Lord Marshal, still standing tensely near the doorway, gave a faint smile—something between smug approval and mild surprise. "Wise, Duchess. I'll inform His Holiness your duchy stands with the Divine Order."
"Don't mistake this for loyalty," Sophie replied coldly. "Leonhart marches to protect the realm, not to fuel your holy war."
Christian's smile faltered. Seradin took a step forward, and the Lord Marshal wisely took that as a sign to leave.
Once he was gone, Sophie turned to her knight. "Send a hawk to Amelia. She must know the truth. And if Edward is truly in the west, then he'll be the first to face the storm."
Seradin gave a quick bow. "As you command."
Outside, the castle stirred like a slumbering beast roused to war. Horns sounded in the courtyard. Black-and-gold banners of House Leonhart snapped in the wind. Somewhere deep within the armory, Elsa was already preparing the Duchess's gear—an orichalum plate, silver-inlaid, reforged after the last campaign.
Location- Felgris Palace, Tigranclaw Duchy
Amelia woke from her slumber. Dizziness blurred her vision, but as fragments of memory aligned, clarity returned.
WHAM!
She banged open the door. Standing just outside was Raphael, his small hands gripping a spear, his back to the bedroom—as if sworn to protect it.
A tear slipped down Amelia's cheek. She stepped forward and wrapped him in a tight embrace from behind.
"Raphael, my son… Mother is proud of you."
A figure intercepted their moment. He had white, undercut hair, his face drenched with sweat. Amethyst eyes scanned the room, searching for something—someone.
"Vayren!" Raphael shrieked.
"Vincent?... What are you doing here, Cupcake?" Amelia asked.
Vincent ran a hand through his hair, breathing hard.
"I need you, Aunt Amy… I need you and Aunt Sophie to go to the Wyrdclaw Range."
Amelia studied him for a heartbeat. Then, with a sharp exhale:
"Okay."
"I'm coming too!"
Raphael raised his hand. Amelia crouched in front of him, her grip tightening on his shoulders.
"Honey, if you come with us… who will protect Delphine and Evangeline?"
Raphael's smile faltered—but only for a moment. He looked up again, warmth in his eyes.
"I will protect them, Mother."
"Anna!" Amelia called.
A maid materialized from thin air.
"Your orders, Duchess?"
"Ready my armor."
The maid bowed deeply, then vanished like smoke.
A few moments later—
Amelia returned from her chambers, her black-and-silver armor fitted perfectly to her frame. As she and Vincent walked toward the training grounds, she gently tapped his shoulder.
"Shouldn't we go to the borders of Tigranclaw?"
Vincent looked up at her, his expression grim.
"It was bait… They never wanted a clash with the duchies." He hesitated. "They've already turned their direction to Leonhart."
Amelia clenched her fists.
"Theodore!" she called out, her voice sharp.
Theodore rushed toward them, pausing as he noticed Vincent at her side.
"Yes, my lady?"
"Send one Wolf Squad with us," she ordered, then turned to Vincent. "We're going to Duskrane."
Theodore flinched.
"But what if—"
Vincent cut him off, stretching out a sealed letter.
Theodore took it reluctantly. As his eyes moved over the contents, his brows furrowed deeper with each line. After a long pause, he returned the letter to Vincent and gave a slow, respectful nod.
"Forgive me for my unsightly behavior, Duchess… I will prepare the Wolves."
As he turned to leave, he cast one last glance at Vincent.
"Young Master Vincent—please protect Lady Amelia."
Vincent met his gaze and nodded silently.
As they strode toward the training grounds, a squad of six silhouettes greeted them. All wore black robes, the sigil of Tigranclaw emblazoned across their backs.
One figure stepped forward, pulling back her cloak. Black hair was tied in a tight bun, and her brown eyes gleamed with loyalty.
"Captain Ilyra Voss of Wolf Squad Four greets the Duchess!" she called, slamming her hand against her chest.
"Wolf Squad Four greets the Duchess!" the others echoed in unison.
Timber crates stood stacked in a corner—few, but plenty.
"Let's move to the warp station, Duchess. Young Master Duskrane," Ilyra said with a small chuckle.
Vincent smiled. "Please wait, Miss Ilyra."
SNAP!
ROAR!
WHAM!
Two dragons descended onto the training ground, their roars tearing the sky apart as they landed.
"Vyrrhala. Caelvyrn." Vincent motioned to them.
The dragons lowered their heads respectfully.
"We greet Master Vincent Duskrane."
The Wolf Squad gasped, jaws nearly hitting the ground.
"D-Dragons…" one whispered in disbelief.
"I can't believe I got to see a dragon… I can die peacefully now," another murmured, hand over heart.
Ilyra was the first to recover.
"Young Master Vincent, these dragons—"
"They're mine," he replied, calm as if claiming a coat.
Ilyra stumbled back in shock.
Amelia ran a hand through Vincent's hair, grinning wide.
"See? My cupcake's a genius!" she laughed like an overwhelming aunt at school events.
"Let's board. They'll be faster," Vincent said.
The dragons lowered themselves.
"We will board Vyrrhala. The squad can ride Caelvyrn."
Caelvyrn, the slate-grey dragon, grumbled like a child denied sweets.
"I wish the Master would board me instead of that periwinkle shit."
Vyrrhala snorted, mockery in her voice.
"Master doesn't board trash."
"Who are you calling trash?" Caelvyrn roared.
"Oh no, you're not trash—you're a trash bin."
"T-Trash bin?! Such blasphemy!"
Vyrrhala lifted her head, voice silky and condescending.
"What can I say, friends? Whenever he opens his mouth, all I hear is garbage… Isn't he a trash bin?"
"Y-You!" Lightning and thunder crackled across the sky, threatening to strike.
"ENOUGH!" Vincent's voice snapped like thunder, pulling the dragons back to silence.
The dragons flinched.
"Forgive us for our shameful behaviour!" The dragons bowed in unison.
Vincent waved his hand dismissively, "It's okay."
Vyrrhala raised her head, "Master's generosity knows no bounds."
Vincent's face palmed, 'Not again!'
Caelvyrn nodded, "That I agree with you, periwinkle."
"We have finished!" Ilyra announced as she placed the final crate at Caelvyrn's back.
"Okay, let's go… At full speed!" Vincent stretched his hand upward like a hip hop dancer.
"Huh?" Before the squad could brace themselves, the dragons shot up at full speed.
"AAAH!!" Their screams echoed in the sky.
Rugard Palace – Leonhart Duchy
The warp station pulsed with unnatural light as armored Templars stepped through, their heavy boots thudding against the stone. The air shimmered with residual mana, and the scent of steel and sanctified incense clung to the corridor.
Sophie stood still at the balcony overlooking the hall, her arms folded, eyes sharp. She watched as the Templars moved with silent purpose through her duchy, using her gates without permission—but with the Emperor's seal.
The air shifted.
Behind her, footsteps echoed—not from the Templars, but soft, assured, and strangely light.
Sophie turned.
A woman with deep, dark skin approached. Her short brown hair fell just to her shoulders, tousled but effortlessly composed. She wore a tracksuit—practical, strange, and out of place in the gilded halls of Rugard. Yet her presence was anything but casual.
The woman smiled faintly.
"You must be Duchess Sophie." Her voice was smooth, calm. "My name is Orrenys. My master sent me."
Sophie narrowed her eyes. "And your master would be…?"
"Vincent Duskrane."
The name struck like a pebble on glass. Sophie's mind processed it fast—but before she could respond, Orrenys turned, her hand slicing cleanly through the air.
CRACK.
The stone behind her splintered like thin ice. A vertical rift opened midair, howling with cold wind and violet light. The ground trembled beneath it.
"Time is short," Orrenys said. "We need to go."
Sophie glanced behind her—Seradin was still coordinating defenses. She clenched her jaw. No time for second guesses.
She stepped forward.
The moment her foot crossed the threshold, the world shimmered.
"Wait!" a voice called from behind.
Leon, hair disheveled, sword still in hand, sprinted toward them. With a final leap, he threw himself through the rift—
Just as it collapsed, shards of light spiralled into nothing.
Silence returned to Rugard Palace.
The Templars never noticed.
Location- Duskrane Castle, Duskrane County
The wind screamed across the wasteland that had once been a verdant ridge. Duskrane's skies were bruised with stormlight and ash. The warp rift collapsed behind them with a final pulse, leaving only silence—and dread.
Sophie stepped down first, eyes wide as she surveyed the broken horizon.
And then—
Leon tumbled out of the collapsing crack, coughing from the sudden shift. He landed hard, rolling onto one knee.
Sophie spun, eyes blazing.
"Leon!?"
He looked up at her, grinning sheepishly through a wince.
Before he could speak, she marched up and grabbed his collar.
"What are you doing here!? Are you insane!?" Her voice cracked. "Hazel—who will protect her? She'll be alone!"
Leon blinked, then looked away.
"I tucked her in," he said softly. "She was asleep. I left a letter for Uncle Seradin. Told him to keep her safe. I said… I said I'd protect you."
His voice trembled at the edges, like the last threads of resolve.
Sophie froze. Her hands dropped slowly from his collar. The fire in her gaze dulled—replaced with something softer… and far heavier.
Then—
A quiet step echoed behind them.
Orrenys approached, her hands tucked into the pockets of her wind-worn tracksuit. Her dark skin shimmered faintly in the eerie light, short brown hair fluttering with the breeze.
She tilted her head.
"…That child," she said simply.
Both turned to her.
"I can feel her essence, still tethered through the gate," Orrenys continued, calm as still water. "You didn't cut the bond completely."
She reached out her hand.
Her fingers curled through the air like she was plucking string from a loom—and space shifted.
CRACK.
A soft rift bloomed open beside her, glowing faintly. From its heart floated a small form, wrapped in a small cloak.
Hazel.
Her thumb still tucked in her mouth, her toy bunny squished under one arm.
Leon's knees nearly gave out.
He surged forward, catching her gently as Orrenys closed the rift with a casual flick of her hand.
"She's okay." She cleared her throat, "She only lost her consciousness."
"She's… she's safe?"
"She's always been safe," Orrenys replied, tone unreadable. "As long as she remains with you."
Sophie knelt beside them both, brushing Hazel's hair back from her face.
"…Foolish boy," she whispered. "But maybe you're your father's son after all."
Leon smiled faintly, hugging his little sister close.
And as the wind picked up, Orrenys lifted her gaze toward the skies.
"They're coming," she said. "We need to move. Now."