The hunters’ village had grown from a quiet settlement into a hub of trade, wealth, and respect. Torches burned brightly in the night as merchants counted their silver, guards patrolled the borders, and emissaries from foreign lands negotiated over rare minerals. Yet amid the prosperity, Aiden Romanov—still called Jonas by most villagers—stood in the shadows of the king’s courtyard, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the Romanov empire lay hidden in the distance.The alliance had brought them strength, yes, but Aiden’s instincts burned with unease. He had lived through betrayal, deception, and blood. He knew the way Zain’s mind worked. Submission was not in the man’s nature; treachery was.That night, as drums echoed faintly from the village square, Bryden approached him. The young man carried a scroll wrapped in red wax, his face tight with tension. “Jonas—” he corrected himself quickly, “Aiden. This arrived through the trade routes. It was meant to pass quietly, but I intercepted

The Romanov mansion no longer felt like a home it had become a fortress under siege, ruled by suspicion. Zain sat at the head of the long mahogany table, his eyes shadowed by the dim light of the chandelier above. His posture was rigid, his fingers drumming against the polished surface as two of his trusted men stood before him. They had returned from the night’s duty—watching Bryden. “Tell me everything,” Zain’s voice cut through the silence like a sharpened blade. One of the men, a tall, scarred figure named Mikhail, bowed his head. “Sir, as instructed, we shadowed Bryden after he left the estate last night. He took the northern route, alone. No escorts, no explanation. He disappeared into the outskirts of the city for nearly two hours before returning.” Zain’s lips curled into something between a sneer and a smile. “And where exactly did he go?” The second man hesitated before answering. “We… could not follow too closely. He moved cautiously, as though aware of being watched.

The Romanov mansion had never felt colder to Bryden. Not because of the marble floors or the iron-boned windows, but because of the suffocating silence that came with Zain’s suspicion. Every servant’s glance lingered too long. Every guard’s step echoed like a warning.Bryden sat in the drawing room one late evening, the firelight flickering across his sharp features. He pretended to be absorbed in a book, but his mind was racing. He knew Zain was onto him. The man had ruled empires with paranoia as his compass; nothing slipped past him for long.And then it came,summons from his grandfather.Zain sat in the great chamber, a room adorned with relics of power: old banners, portraits of forefathers, and gilded trinkets stolen from fallen rivals. He looked every inch the emperor, though the lines around his eyes betrayed a man gnawed at by time and desperation.“Bryden,” he said, his voice silk over steel. “You’ve been… busy.”Bryden bowed his head. “I serve you, as always, Grandfather.”

The earth trembled with the sound of war drums. From the highest ridge overlooking the Romanov stronghold, torches burned like a sea of fire, stretching across the horizon. The hunters had gathered. Aiden Romanov stood at their front, armored in steel and resolve, his face a mask of focus. Tonight would not be another skirmish. Tonight was destiny.Behind him, Silvana held their newborn in her arms, Zia clutching tightly at her side. Though they remained in the safety of the hunters’ village, their presence fueled his resolve. Aiden whispered only once before leaving: “I return not as a ghost, not as a broken man,but as your shield.”The time had come to reclaim what was stolen.The hunters moved in disciplined formations, their chants echoing like thunder through the valley. Alongside them marched allies,families who had once been loyal to Romanovs but had abandoned Zain after his tyranny drove them to ruin. Every banner that rose bore the same symbol: not Zain’s crest, but Aiden’s.