Previously~
At the heart of the chaos, Orianne had fallen to her knees, arms outstretched as the girls barreled into her.
She caught all three, cradling them close as emotion swept over her like a wave. Her laughter was mixed with tears as she whispered, "You reckless little stars…"
She kissed their foreheads, holding them as if letting go might scatter them again.
Off to the side, Vaelgoryn blinked at the scene, thoroughly baffled. He leaned toward Vincent with a sideways glance.
"You know… this might be the weirdest family gathering I've ever attended."
Vincent exhaled long and slow. "Welcome to Duskrane."
—-----------------------------------------------------------
After a few moments~
Vincent leapt onto Vaelgoryn's back, his voice clear and firm.
"The plan remains unchanged."
He turned to Orianne and Olivia, his gaze steady.
"Mother, Grandmother—stay at the castle. They'll come here eventually. Be ready to give them a warm welcome."
A quick wink to Thomas.
"Grandfather, take the Shadows and strike Ravenshade Keep. Hit them before they know we're watching."
His eyes then fell on Sophie and Amelia, his voice lowering.
"Aunt Sophie, Aunt Amelia… we can't let them know you're here. Keep watch over the Wyrdclaw Range in case an assault begins."
With a flick of his wrist, two cards cut through the air toward them, glinting faintly in the light.
"Use these if the beasts come in numbers."
Each card was etched with the symbol of Duskrane County on both sides, humming faintly with hidden power.
"Okay," Sophie said softly, fingers closing around the card.
"Stay safe," Amelia called after him, offering a wave.
Orianne said nothing—her eyes simply followed Vincent, unreadable and intense.
Thomas and Olivia answered only with a firm nod
Vincent gave one last nod before Vaelgoryn spread his wings. The dragon's obsidian scales shimmered under the fading light, casting flickers of shadow across the courtyard. With a deafening roar and a gust of wind, they lifted into the misty skies of Duskrane.
The air turned cold as they climbed, slicing through layers of drifting fog that curled like ghostly tendrils. Below, the stronghold shrank, its watchtowers bristling like thorns. Somewhere beyond the Veilspire Mountains, enemies stirred.
Vaelgoryn's voice echoed in Vincent's mind, ancient and solemn.
"The winds carry more than just the scent of war. Something old stirs."
Vincent clenched his fists around the reins.
"We'll deal with it. One thing at a time."
Back at the castle, Orianne turned away from the disappearing silhouette in the sky. Her eyes, once sharp and unwavering, were misted with unspoken fear. Olivia placed a gentle hand on her arm.
"He's grown," the old countess said quietly. "In more ways than one."
Thomas, meanwhile, was already barking orders to his shadow operatives—Duskrane's elusive defenders cloaked in black and gray. They vanished one by one, melting into the dark like ghosts heading for Ravenshade.
Amelia twirled the card between her fingers, frowning.
"Only he would make a weapon look like a playing card."
Sophie traced her thumb over the Duskrane symbol, feeling a faint pulse of magic.
"He's smart. And scared. That's a dangerous combination."
She turned her gaze to the distant mountains. The Wyrdclaw Range loomed like jagged teeth on the horizon, veiled in low clouds and threat.
"Let's take our positions," she said. "If the beasts come, they'll find we bite back."
Location- Duskmirror Lake
The air hung heavy with fog and dread. Duskmirror's glassy waters, once still, now shimmered with unnatural ripples. On the blackened shores, the Templar phalanx fought desperately, silver blades flashing against twisted horrors that crawled from the mist.
Screams echoed. Steel met sinew. And yet—for every beast they struck down, two more seemed to rise.
Lord Marshal Christian Classon stood at the edge of the battle, rain streaking across his dented helm. His cape, once pristine, was tattered and soaked red. His voice cut through the chaos.
"Report! How many are left?"
A bloodied knight stumbled toward him, coughing through his helm.
"Two thousand, Lord Marshal. At best."
Christian's eyes narrowed. He clenched his jaw. They had come with ten thousand. An army of the faithful—now whittled down to frightened men choking on fog and blood.
Then—silence.
It fell like a blanket over the battlefield. No roars. No cries. Even the wind seemed to halt.
The waters of Duskmirror darkened further, the ripples slowing… then reversing. A pull began, subtle at first, then growing—a gravitational force tugging at armor, water, and bone alike.
Christian froze.
"No… not here. Not now."
The Pale Maw had awoken.
The lake bowed inward, as though the center of its depths were collapsing. Something vast stirred beneath the surface. Not seen—felt. A pressure that pressed on lungs and soul alike. The Templars staggered, many falling to their knees, weapons slipping from numb fingers.
A shape—impossibly vast—moved beneath the lake's mirrored skin.
Then, chaos.
Water exploded upward. Entire squads were torn into the air as the grey leviathan revealed its maw—wide as a chapel, rimmed with pale, spiraling teeth. Not a beast of flesh and bone, but an ancient terror carved from nightmare and silence. The Pale Maw did not roar—it simply opened, and devoured.
Soldiers vanished by the dozen. The ground near the lake cracked as the creature's pull deepened. Christian shouted.
"Fall back! Find high ground! MOVE!"
Those who could ran. Others crawled. Some, already too close, were dragged screaming into the water, armor scraping against the stones in a final, futile resistance.
Through tangled woods and broken ravines, the remnants fled. Hours later, soaked and trembling, they found shelter in a moss-choked ruin nestled in the cliffs—Ravenshade Keep. Its gates groaned as they pushed them open. The fortress was long abandoned, but it still stood.
It was enough.
Lightning split the sky like a jagged blade. The Velgorath River surged below, swollen and furious, smashing against the jagged stone banks as if some ancient beast struggled to break free from its chains. Rain lashed down in sheets, muffling the distant rumble of thunder.
A battalion of soldiers clad in silver armor marched in steady formation across the old stone bridge, its weathered arches standing strong against the relentless current beneath. The air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth and the tension of unsaid words.
Edward rode at the front, his gaze focused ahead, though his mind wandered like the storm. Beside him, Kalem, ever the stoic, kept a close watch on the path ahead. Edward's hand tightened around the reins.
"Sir Kalem, any word from Theodore?" Edward asked, breaking the silence.
Kalem hesitated, as though the message weighed heavy on him.
"Yes, my lord." He shifted the piece of parchment in his gloved hands, clearly uncomfortable with the news.
"It seems the duchess has traveled to Duskrane at the request of Young Master Vincent."
Edward's jaw clenched, a flicker of concern passing through his eyes.
"I knew she would go there… but Vincent..." He trailed off, his mind racing. "Did he come himself?"
"It seems so, my lord," Kalem replied, his voice betraying the weight of the situation. "Also… Young Master Raphael and the young ladies have accompanied the duchess on her journey."
Edward's breath caught in his throat. He coughed, trying to mask his shock.
"What…? Raphael is in Duskrane County?"
Kalem rolled the parchment tighter, his expression unreadable.
"Indeed, my lord. It seems there was no stopping them."
Edward's mind raced, his thoughts colliding with the implications. Duskrane was no place for children—not with the monsters that roamed the mist and the power that lurked beneath the lake.
"And where does this leave us?" Edward muttered, eyes narrowing against the storm.
Kalem glanced briefly at his lord. "Where we've always been, my lord... between a tempest and the deep.
Location-Royal Palace, Ardellia Kingdom
The Ardellia Kingdom sat nestled between emerald hills and vast stretches of fertile plains, known for its deep-rooted traditions and its long-standing loyalty to the empire. Its royal palace was an imposing structure, the heart of a proud and ancient dynasty. Built from pale stone that shimmered in the light of both dawn and dusk, the palace towered above the city, visible for miles in every direction. Its high spires seemed to scrape the sky, while its grand walls were adorned with intricate carvings and statues, representing the kingdom's storied history and their veneration of the gods.
At the palace's heart was the Throne Hall, a vast chamber with high vaulted ceilings, supported by columns of white marble. Massive tapestries depicting the kingdom's earliest rulers draped the walls, the colors bold and vibrant. The floor beneath was paved with checkerboard tiles, each piece meticulously set to create a feeling of balance and order. Stained glass windows cast a kaleidoscope of light across the room, where noblemen and courtiers often gathered in whispered conversation. The scent of incense, a mix of jasmine and cedar, lingered in the air, heightening the atmosphere of both grandeur and tension.
But beyond the grandeur, the palace was a fortress. The outer walls, thicker than most fortifications, were designed not just for aesthetics but for defense. Behind the ornate gates and defensive towers stood a series of hidden passageways and secret chambers, known only to the royal family and trusted servants. The palace had weathered centuries of political intrigue, the shadows of assassins and scheming nobles hanging just as heavily as the weight of its history.
The royal gardens outside were vast and meticulously manicured, designed in geometric patterns with perfectly trimmed hedges, fountains, and statues. A small maze of hedges led to a serene pond where the royal family had spent countless hours in contemplation. Above it all, the palace loomed like a symbol of both strength and vulnerability—the seat of power, yet constantly under the scrutiny of those who would seek to dethrone it.
BAM!
Edward kicked open the door with a force that rattled the windows. The King of Ardellia, a stout man with a weathered face, sat behind his ornate desk, his quill poised mid-air. The room was dim, lit only by flickering candles, and the air was thick with the scent of incense and aged wood.
The King's expression shifted from mild surprise to a frown. His guards, who had been standing at attention, quickly moved to draw their weapons, but the sight of Edward—his armor still gleaming from his recent travels—made them pause, their gazes flicking nervously to their King.
"Edward," the King said, his voice calm but laced with an unmistakable edge. "I wasn't expecting a visit from you."
Edward strode forward, his boots clicking sharply against the floor. Without a word, he slammed his hand down on the desk, sending papers scattering into the air. The King's eyes narrowed, his patience clearly wearing thin.
"You've been meeting with foreign powers," Edward said, his voice low and dangerous. "You've been moving your military forces and importing weapons—preparing for war. And now, the Fafnir Empire is getting word of it."
The King sighed, his gaze flicking to the scattered parchment before him. He folded his hands over his belly, seemingly unfazed by Edward's fury. "You don't understand, Edward. This kingdom is protected by the Empire, but the Empire is too slow. Too distant."
Edward's fists clenched at his sides. "So you've taken matters into your own hands? Do you think that will end well for you?"
The King's lips curled into a faint smile, though there was no humor in it. "The Empire is crumbling. We need to prepare, Edward. You've seen it yourself—the emperor is weak, his influence waning. I have no choice but to secure Ardellia's future, even if that means forging alliances that might be... unpopular with the Empire."
Edward's mind raced, the weight of the situation heavy on his shoulders. The King of Ardellia, once a loyal subject, now seemed to be playing a dangerous game. "So, you've decided to act behind the Empire's back?" Edward's voice was icy. "Do you think the emperor won't find out? That he won't take action?"
The King leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the wooden surface. "And what will he do? Send you to stop us? You've been sent here to investigate, but the truth is, Edward, you are just a pawn in this game. You're in too deep now, and there's no going back."
Edward's gaze hardened. "You've miscalculated." His voice was steady, but there was a steel edge to it. "I won't let you drag the entire kingdom into chaos. You've made your alliances, but I'll make sure you face the consequences."
The King's face tightened. "You underestimate the power of choice, Edward. And that's where you've gone wrong. There's more at stake here than just loyalty to the Empire. Much more."
Edward stepped back, his gaze fixed on the King. "Then I'll expose you for what you are—a traitor to the Empire. I'll make sure everyone knows the truth."
As Edward turned to leave, the King's voice echoed in the silence. "Do what you must, Edward. But remember—this is no longer just about you. And once you've crossed that line, there's no coming back."
Edward paused at the door, his hand resting on the handle. He glanced over his shoulder. "Then I'll make sure I'm the one who gets to decide how it ends."
With that, he left, his cloak billowing behind him as the doors swung closed.
CLANG! STEP! STEP! CLANG!
As soon as Edward stepped out of the room, hordes of knights closed in, steel encircling him and his retinue. Sir Kalem turned to Edward, but instead of fear, laughter flashed across his face.
"HAHAHA!" both men burst out laughing.
"It seems I won the bet, Kalem," Edward said with a wink.
"Your insight is boundless, my lord," Kalem smirked.
CLANG! CRANG!
Tigranclaw soldiers unsheathed their spears. Short swords slid loose from their belts as their eyes locked onto the encroaching foes.
STEP. STEP.
A towering figure emerged from the ranks—Donald Welsh, the Swordmaster of Ardellia. His boots echoed against the stone as he strode forward.
CLANG!
He drew his greatsword in one fluid motion.
"Edward Tigranclaw," he growled, "let's duel."
WHAM!
The king burst from the study, his laughter cold as he stopped beside Donald, resting a hand on his shoulder. His gaze settled on Edward.
Edward's laughter slowed to a sly chuckle.
"Hey, King… is your palace a farm?" he tilted his head toward Donald. "Because I could've sworn I heard a pig squeal."
"You bastard!" Donald snarled, his nostrils flaring.
WHAM!
Donald lunged. His blade howled through the air.
VSHOOM!
But Edward was gone—vanishing just before the steel could taste blood, wind whipping in his wake.