The Blue Devil and Red Angel teams reached Bluefeather Duchy by noon the next day, covered in dust but finally free from Lamar’s pursuit. The high spires of the Duke’s palace glimmered against the pale sky like a promise of safety. They marched straight to the palace grounds, their badges displayed. The guards let them through after confirming their identities, and soon enough, they were in the Duke’s audience hall—tired, bruised, but triumphant. The report was swift and formal. Magnus stood as the representative of both teams, giving a concise summary of the operation, the battle with the Colossus, and the aftermath. When he finished, the Duke nodded with approval. “You’ve done well,” the Duke said, his deep voice echoing off the marble walls. “I will have the guild informed once the verification process is complete. Your rewards will follow shortly.” The formalities ended there. They bowed, exchanged parting words, and left the palace together—but only for a short while. “Let’s

The journey from Bluefeather Duchy to the Lupin Mountain Range took three long days. Talon didn’t rest except when night forced him to. Even then, he slept lightly, like a blade kept half-drawn. Veyra followed a few paces behind him most of the way, keeping silent. She could tell — he wasn’t just angry. He was barely holding himself together. The few times they stopped to camp, he said nothing. He cooked, ate, and packed up again with mechanical precision. His eyes didn’t rest on the horizon or the stars; they only looked forward. The air around him felt heavier with each passing day, and Veyra didn’t need her bloodline senses to feel it. He was a volcano walking in silence. When they reached the outer ridges of the Lupin Mountains, the wind grew colder. The trees here were tall and thin, and the fog clung to the ground like smoke after a battle. Veyra paused, eyes narrowing. Her instincts screamed danger. Something in the mountain’s depths felt wrong — not an ordinary monster, bu

The night was quiet except for the soft crackle of the campfire. Smoke drifted lazily into the air, carrying the smell of roasted meat and wet grass. Talon sat close to the flames, his back hunched, eyes fixed on the fire as if it held the answers to his thoughts. The Lupin Mountain Range loomed around them, tall and dark, its cliffs swallowing what little moonlight slipped through the clouds. They had been on the move for three days straight. Apart from brief stops to camp, Talon hadn’t slowed down once. Veyra had followed silently, sensing his mood and deciding not to poke at it. He hadn’t spoken since they left Bluefeather Duchy. Not when they crossed into the mountain range. Barely when they felt the dangerous presence ahead. He just kept walking, expression stiff and distant. Now, that oppressive aura had faded to a faint pulse, like the heartbeat of something enormous sleeping deep within the mountains. It didn’t make her feel safer, but at least the night wasn’t trembling w

Night settled softly over the Aerindel estate, draping its towers and courtyards in a wash of silver light. The palace was asleep. The Duke’s wing too, mostly. Except for one room. The air inside it was thick — herbs, oil, and the faint sting of smoke that had nowhere to go. Shelves crowded with jars. Old things in old bottles. Some of those oils were worth more than gold; he treated them like sacred trust. A wooden altar sat in the middle, plain and worn. Unlit candles surrounded it. A cushion, gong and beater sat at the base of the altar. With an ornate mirror at the head of the altar, inscribed with fading illegible scripts, reflecting his tired visage. Alaric knelt before the altar, the cushion pressing against his knees, and began grinding herbs in a small dish. The sharp scent filled the air. From the shelf, he chose a vial of royal-blue oil — Regality, the name etched into the glass — and dipped his ceremonial knife into it. His voice was steady when he began the chant. T