I think I’m ready to publish this chapter

  Torglel and I slowly got back to our feet.The stone floor was cold and unforgiving beneath my palms, dust clinging to my gloves like judgment.First trees, now walls. I’m beginning to suspect inanimate objects have a personal vendetta against me.The records will show: Solari versus structural integrity remains a one-sided war.

  “Whoohoo! Vampire Temper Tantrum Throwdown!” Erynis whooped, tossing glitter like it was currency.

  “Broody Boy is the strongest!” Nysera sang, dancing in a circle, illusionary fangs still stuck to her face from her last prank. Her boots squeaked faintly with every step, leaving glitter smears like crime scene evidence on the training room floor.

  And just like that, without warning or permission, the two agents of chaos found each other.

  Little did I know, this was the beginning of the most unhinged, glitter-fueled friendship in all of Sainaro.

  I stormed out of the training room, ribs aching and pride more so.Maybe I’d find Corven.Maybe I’d find a wooden stake.Whichever came first.

  As I stalked through the tunnels, I nearly collided with Alythiel.

  “What happened?!” she asked, already channeling healing magic toward my ribs.

  “One moody vampire happened,” I grunted as warmth bloomed through my side. “Something went down on that mission of his, and I intend to find out what.”

  “I’m coming with you,” she said, voice firm.

  “No. Go see if Torglel needs healing—he took a beating too. He’s in the training room.”

  She hesitated, then nodded and sprinted off.

  I didn’t knock. I slammed the door open.The hinges groaned like they resented the intrusion. The room smelled faintly of old parchment, candlewax, and something sharper—like dried blood and colder judgment.

  Corven sat at his desk, casually reading a book like he hadn’t just thrown us into the wall like furniture.

  “What is your problem, you walking war crime?” I barked, runes flickering faintly along my arms.

  He didn’t even look up. “My problem? I just spent a week with the most loathsome gnome I’ve ever met—and believe me, I’ve met a lot of gnomes—and a glitter-fueled chaos gremlin who tricked Kaelen into trying to assassinate me.”

  …I didn’t know whether that made me feel better or worse.

  “Well. That’s fair,” I admitted. “And since you all came back alive, I’ll call it a win.”

  He scoffed. “The fact that we’re alive is because Velguira decided to let us live.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  That name froze the air.

  “Velguira?”

  Corven sighed and gestured to the empty chair. I sat. The leather squeaked socket beneath my weight.

  “I learned two things,” he began. “First: Zolphan’s keeping a mage hostage. Across the sea.”

  “Then we launch a rescue mission,” I said.

  Corven nodded. “Enemy of my enemy.”

  “Second?” I asked.

  “Zolphan’s experimenting on Drydalis—trying to create pseudo-vampires. Velguira’s helping him.”

  I processed that.

  “She’s stronger than you?”

  His face darkened. “She’s leagues above me. Monsters have nightmares about her.” His voice was gravel dragged over steel, low and bitter.

  He pulled out parchment and began sketching. The quill scratched against the parchment like claws etching bone, each line drawn with unsettling calm.

  “Mortals on the bottom. Gnomes, elves, dwarves.Then Splitbloods—half mortal, half celestial or demon.Above that—immortals born on the mortal plane: Noctixans, Veilborn, Nightbloods.Then, demigods—vampires, Velryn. Immortals given divine power.”

  I frowned. “But you’re both demigods. Why is she so far ahead?”

  “She’s Velsangui’s champion. She embraced the gift. Refined it.I sealed mine away. I refused to be a pawn.”The candlelight flickered across the chart, casting jagged shadows that looked like claw marks.

  I stared.

  We weren’t so different.

  Both of us carrying power we never asked for.

  “She’s powerful enough to rival Velsangui?”

  Corven nodded. “Which is why you need to grow stronger. She stands between you and Zolphan.”

  My jaw clenched. “Then we start now. Rescue mission. I’m assembling the team.”

  A voice echoed in my head. My other self.

  He may have sealed his power…

  But yours?

  That smug, condescending grin lingered in my thoughts.

  …yours is inevitable.

  He laughed that oh so annoying maniacal laugh.

  I returned to the training room.

  Alythiel sat cross-legged. The air smelled of scorched stone and old sweat. A thin trail of healing light pulsed from her fingertips, casting flickering patterns across Torglel’s crimson armor.

  He leaned against the back wall like it owed him rent, cradling an empty jerky pouch like a war medal awarded for tragic culinary loss.

  “So there I was, halfway through me ration pack—twelve sticks of smoked bear jerky, cured to perfection—when it swoops down. A wyvern! Green. Ugly. Looked like it lost a bet with a lizard and a thundercloud” Its wings beat the air like thunderclaps in a frying pan, and its breath smelled like someone tried to pickle sulfur and shame.

  “Jerkybane?” Alythiel asked, voice dry enough to ignite kindling.

  Torglel nodded gravely.“Aye. The snack-thieving scourge of Sainaro. Snatched the whole pack from me hands. That beast has no honor.”Torglel’s jerky pouch crackled in his grip, like a battle standard made of smoked meat

  “You dropped it down a cliff,” Kaelen muttered, stepping into the room.

  “Dropped? Nay. Offered in the heat of battle. He ambushed me mid-bite!”

  Nysera strolled in, faint glitter trailing behind her like perfume.

  “Oh, this story again? Did you tell them how you and Jerkybane are best friends now?”

  “Don’t mock me. I punched that lizard square in the snout,” Torglel growled, miming a haymaker.

  Nysera sipped her mug, hissing faintly, as though its contents were negotiating escape. “Pretty sure it flew off with your boots too.”

  “Strategic boot removal. To improve mobility.”

  “You threw your boots at it while screaming about Dwarven vengeance,” Kaelen groaned. “Then you tackled it.”

  I stared at them.

  “This is the group we’re trusting with the fate of the world,” I muttered.

  Torglel pantomimed an aerial takedown. Nysera joined Alythiel, quietly humming what I would later discover was The Jerkybane Battle Ballad.

  I came to call a war council. I got a jester’s court.

  And thus concludes another completely normal day with the Shadow Hand. Wyvern-related snack thefts, glitter warfare, vampiric angst, and impromptu aerial combat… just your standard Tuesday in Sainaro.

  If you’re enjoying the chaos, consider leaving a rating, review, or comment! Every bit of support fuels more unhinged antics, questionable life choices, and the continued legend of Jerkybane the Snack-Thieving Wyvern.

  Next time:

  War council? Probably.

  Actual strategy? Debatable.

  Glitter? Always.

  Stay weird,

  —Ethan H