The grand halls of the castle echoed with the murmurs of history. The walls, lined with tapestries depicting the rise and fall of past rulers, seemed to whisper secrets to those who ventured within. Among these whispering corridors, a solitary figure moved with purpose.

  Victor had ascended to power not through birthright but through Aetherius’s calculated decree. His rule was one of iron and efficiency, a necessary cruelty to maintain order in a city where prosperity and poverty lived side by side. Tonight, he walked through the echoing halls with a heavy heart, his face illuminated by the flickering light of ornate chandeliers.

  In his private chamber, Victor unrolled a large map of Heliandria on a polished mahogany table. The map was meticulously detailed, marking every sector, every district, and the treacherous Grimshade Forest. He traced his fingers over the lines that divided the city, feeling the weight of his responsibilities and the unease that came with them.

  “Your Majesty,”

  came a voice, sharp and professional. Victor turned to see Kiera, his chief advisor, and the only person he trusted implicitly. Her silver hair was tied back in a strict bun, and her dark eyes held a glint of unspoken thoughts.

  “Chief Blackthorn,”

  Victor greeted, his voice a low rumble.

  “You’re punctual as always.”

  “Time is a luxury we can not afford,”

  she replied, her gaze settling on the map.

  “The unrest in the Eclipse Market is worsening. There are rumors of a rebellion brewing.”

  Victor’s jaw tightened. The outer walls of the city had long been a thorn in his side—a place where the poorest of the poor dwelled, their discontent simmering just beneath the surface.

  “What have you learned?”

  Kiera’s lips pressed into a thin line.

  “There’s talk of an underground group, calling themselves the ‘Luminous Rebellion.’ They claim to be fighting against the oppressive regime, but their true motives remain unclear. They’ve managed to attract a significant number of disillusioned citizens.”

  Victor nodded, his mind racing through potential responses.

  “What about our informants? Are they reporting anything useful?”

  “Only that the Rebellion’s leader remains elusive. The group operates in the shadows, using the Grimshade as their base. It’s a dangerous area, difficult to penetrate.”

  The Crimson Imperator stared at the map, lost in thought. The Grimshade Forest, a lawless expanse, a haven for criminals and outcasts. It was also a place where Aetherius’s influence had never fully reached. The idea of a rebellion finding sanctuary there did not surprise him but concerned him greatly.

  “I want a full report on their activities,” he ordered. “And I want our agents to infiltrate the Grimshade Forest. If this Rebellion is a threat, we must act swiftly.”

  Victor’s brow furrowed as he continued,

  “However, we must tread carefully. The Elven Kingdom within the Grimshade is a formidable force. Their warriors are skilled and have the advantage of knowing the forest intimately. We cannot afford to provoke them or risk appearing as if we’re encroaching on their territory, I am sure I do not need to remind you of the importance of the trade route leading through Grimshade. Our Queen is currently conducting operations in that area, we can not and will not jeopardize her majesty’s plan. Should any confrontation arise, ensure our operatives incapacitate the elves and make it look like a simple robbery from common thieves. If deadly force is unavoidable, dismember the elfs and have our agents paint the scene as a massacre from the local wildlife. It is imperative that each squad leader spends time studying the local beast. The squad leaders of your choice will be granted limited access to the castle′s archive. I’ll inform Aetherius to expect visitors, it will do him some good.

  Kiera nodded, already planning her next steps.

  Victor gaze locked with Kiera, Our agents must remain undetectable—no traces of Heliandrian identity should be left behind.

  “I’ll see to it immediately. Is there anything else you need?”

  A few seconds pass. Silence falls over the room. Victor’s gaze shifts to a framed portrait on the wall—a depiction of Aetherius, King Aetherius, liberator of Heliandria, and a constant reminder of the man who had changed the city’s fate. The portrait was a symbol of both progress and leadership.

  “Yes, Kiera,” he said firmly. “Inform Admiral Ravenshade I’ll be attending the Princesses' training tomorrow morning.”

  Kiera’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “You’ve never shown interest in the Princes before. Why now?”

  Victor’s gaze turned to steel. He clasped his hands behind his back, his posture rigid with thought. “Because someone must.” His voice was measured, devoid of emotion, but there was an edge beneath the surface, a quiet urgency.

  “The King has built something that will outlast us all—a kingdom unrivaled in power, in knowledge, in strength. He has no desire to rule, only to learn and ensure that what he’s created does not crumble.” His fingers twitched slightly, the only betrayal of his otherwise controlled demeanor. “Our Red Queen is different. She thrives in the storm of war, wields it like an extension of herself. And yet, she is not invincible, ”

  His jaw tightened. “She believes herself untouchable. Some even call her a god, but the battlefield does not care for bloodlines or crowns. One misstep, one moment of arrogance, and she will fall. Not if, but when she does, there will be no one left to rule.”

  He turned his gaze back to Kiera, piercing and absolute. “The Princes must be ready. She will not have the luxury of failing.”

  Kiera bowed her head in agreement and left the room, her footsteps fading into the distance. Victor remained alone, the room growing colder as he contemplated his next move.

  His thoughts wandered to Aetherius’s two children.

  Cyrus Valtoris—fearless, disciplined, relentless. A warrior in every sense of the word. Despite lacking any magical ability, he had quickly become a masterful fighter, perfecting every technique with an almost unnatural ease. He could be molded into a great general, a weapon sharpened to perfection.

  Then there was Elara Moon Valtoris—the eldest, the heir, and the only one who could truly inherit Aetherius’s legacy. She possessed intelligence sharp enough to rival her father’s and magic deep enough to reshape the world. Yet, where Cyrus thrives in battle, she hesitates. Where he wields swords, she wields knowledge. Where he is admired for his strength, she is scrutinized for her restraint.

  Victor could already hear the whispers. She is too tempered, too hesitant—a mind steeped in contemplation when the weight of the crown demands conviction.

  The people feared magic, hunted it, burned it out of their own flesh and soil—yet, paradoxically, others saw it as salvation. Some whispered that magic was the key to restoring what had been lost, a power that could elevate the kingdom beyond even Aetherius’s greatest advancements. Others saw it as a curse, a danger that had no place in a world of science and progres.

  This divide was the true threat to the kingdom. Not foreign enemies. Not invading forces. Ideas. The talks of rebellion, the slow rot of civil war.

  For now, the people were united by one thing—fear. Fear of the Red Queen’s wrath. It was her presence alone that kept the kingdom from splitting apart. But she would not last forever. And when she was gone, when there was no shadow of her vengeance to keep the factions in check, that fear would turn inward. Against each other.

  That could not be allowed to happen.

  Elara was the answer. A mage on the throne would not only command obedience but resolve the schism before it shattered the kingdom. She would be the bridge between fear and hope, the proof that magic could be controlled, that it could serve the kingdom rather than threaten it.

  If a mage sat on the throne, a mage who was also Aetherius’s daughter, they would not resist. They would not rise against her. They would kneel.

  Cyrus, for all his skill, could never command the same authority. He is an echo of old ways—of blood and steel. But Elara, she could be something new. A bridge between what was and what could be.

  Victor understood this better than anyone. Without the Red Queen, the kingdom would be left vulnerable. Aetherius would not rule. Cyrus could not rule.

  That left only Elara.

  And she could not afford to fail.

  The night deepened, and the city pulsed with life, its rhythms shaped by forces both seen and unseen—glowing lights flickering like nerves beneath the skin of a restless giant. A kingdom built on reason and progress, yet teetering on the edge of its own contradictions. Victor exhaled slowly, already planning the steps ahead.

  Tomorrow, the uncertainty festers.

  Meanwhile, on the Edge of the Grimshade Forest.

  In the murky twilight of the Grimshade Forest, a ragtag group of rebels huddled around a flickering fire. Their leader, a tall figure cloaked in shadows, listened intently to a map being unfolded by one of his lieutenants. The fire cast erratic shadows on the surrounding rock formations and trees, emphasizing the harsh and desolate nature of their hideout.

  “The Luminous Rebellion grows stronger every day,” the leader said, his voice a gravelly whisper that seemed to reverberate from the darkness.

  Lyra shivered slightly at the sound, her eyes locked onto the leader's shadowed face.

  “But we must tread carefully. The Red Queen’s men are relentless. We need to strike at the right moment, when they least expect it.”

  A young woman with a fierce look in her eyes, known among the rebels as Lyra, stepped forward. Her determination, evident.

  “Our message is reaching more people, but we need significant action to truly make them listen. We can’t wait forever.”

  The leader’s eyes, barely visible beneath the hood of his cloak, turned to her with a piercing gaze. “And what do you propose?”

  Lyra’s heart pounding, but her voice, steady. “We target a supply line. Disrupt their resources and distribute them out. It will show our strength and rally more support.”

  The leader’s lips curled into a dark smile. “An interesting plan. But remember, Lyra, no matter how brilliant the strategy, execution is everything. Never engage in battle without the foresight to ensure your triumph.”

  Before Lyra could respond, the leader's cloaked figure moved with unnerving speed. He gestured to two of his guards. They nodded and quickly brought forward a bound and unconscious figure. As they dragged the young man into the dim light, Lyra’s breath caught in her throat.

  The young city guard was no more than sixteen, his face pale and bruised. His hands were tied tightly, and his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. His swollen eyes fluttered open, tears already forming, and as they focused, they landed on Lyra. Recognition and terror flashed across his face.

  “Lyra,” he choked, his voice breaking. “Please… let me go! I don’t want to die!…… I don’t want to die.”

  Lyra’s heart sank. The guard’s pleading eyes mirrored the vulnerability she felt. Her hands trembled slightly, and though she tried to maintain her composure, the fear was palpable. Her gaze flickered from the young guard to the hooded leader, who watched her with an inscrutable expression.

  The leader’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

  “You will extract the information we need from him. I want to know everything he knows about the city’s supply line and the movements of the Red Queen’s forces.”

  Lyra’s throat tightened as she recognized the young guard. His name is Timothee, he was the son of a renowned blacksmith from the Opal Sector, which had likely secured his position in the City Guards at such a young age. His bright eyes and youthful enthusiasm had once longed for adventure beyond the city walls. Now, he was reduced to a mere pawn in this ruthless game, his dreams overshadowed by the grim reality before him.

  She swallowed hard, meeting the leader’s steely eyes. The forest seemed to close in on her, the air thick with dread. She nodded slowly, though her expression betrayed the sadness and fear she felt. Her mind raced, trying to reconcile the person she had to be to survive with the person she wished she could be.

  The young guard’s eyes were full of desperation as he turned to her.

  “Lyra, ple—please...”

  Lyra looked away, the weight of her decision pressing heavily on her. The leader's gaze remained fixed, a silent command that brooked no argument. The consequences of defying are well known, and the fear of becoming a victim herself drove her to act.

  The leader’s command heavily warped around her chest as Lyra took a deep breath, bracing herself for what she had to do.

  “Proceed, Lyra. Every choice you make is a step closer to either victory or ruin.”

  As Lyra moved toward the bound guard, the forest seemed to darken further, the threat of danger and the shadow of the leader grew greater, looming over more with every step. The air crackled with the tension of impending actions and decisions that could either seal the fate of this poor child or unravel the threads of their rebellion.

  Lyra placed both hands gently on the young guard's head as he continued to cry out and beg.

  Tears streamed down her face, solidifying with her resolve. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still. The crackling of the fire grew distant, and the embers floating in the air hung motionless in an eerie, suspended calm. She whispered his name once, soft and quiet, like if it was a prayer or an apology.

  “Timothee…“

  The profound silence was abruptly shattered by a guard's dreadful screams. Blood starts to slowly pour out of his orifices. Just as abruptly as they began, the screams stopped

  His lifeless body ploops to the red-stained dirt, Pulling Lyra back to the grim reality around her.

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  The leader's unwavering gaze never faltered, his eyes like cold, unblinking stars. He observed Lyra's trembling form, his approval barely discernible beneath the shadow of his hood. After a long, tense silence, he nodded slowly, the motion almost imperceptible.

  “Very well,” he intoned, his voice a low, ominous whisper. “Prepare the group. We move at dawn.”

  The faintest glimmer of approval flickered in his eyes, but it was quickly masked by his steely demeanor. The weight of his decision hung heavily in the air, and the audience of rebels seemed to exhale a collective sigh as the tension eased, though the underlying threat remained palpable.

  Lyra's heart pounded as she stepped away from the young guard's body, the blood-damped forest floor crunching beneath her boots. The gravity of his command weighed heavily on her, and as she moved through the shadows of the trees, the chilling silence of the leader’s approval echoed in her mind.

  Chapter 2: The Goddess of Darkness

  The scene opens in a tranquil village by the river. A man, dressed in simple, worn clothing that signifies his hard work, casts his fishing line into the water. Sweat glistens on his brow as he concentrates on his task. Behind him, a young girl plays with a group of rats, her father’s latest catch soon to be shared with her small companions. The river murmured gently beside them, the grass cool beneath their bare feet.

  After a productive morning, the man hauls in a sizable catch and ties the fish into a bag. He walks over to his daughter, Seraphis, who is engrossed in her game.

  “What do you have there?” he asks with a smile.

  Seraphis proudly introduces her rats.

  “This is Kamoram, Lila, and Jake.”

  He responds “Nice to meet you, Kamora, Lila, and Jake. Would they like some fish?”

  Seraphis’s father watches from a distance as she presents the fish to her furry friends.

  “Here you go, guys. A treat from my dad.”

  The rats eagerly approach the fish, stopping in their tracks then sniffing the air.

  Seraphis’s father marvels, “Wow, that’s incredible. How did you teach them to do that?”

  Seraphis shakes her head. “It’s not a trick, Dad. I didn’t teach them anything. I just offered them my friendship, and they chose to listen. They didn’t have to.”

  Her father chuckles, “You’re fantastic, Seraphis. You’ve inherited your mother’s brilliance.”

  They both laugh. Seraphis signals to her rats to start eating. Within moments, the fish is torn apart. “Wow, you guys were hungry!” Seraphis exclaims.

  As the sun rises, casting a soft glow over the landscape, Seraphis and her father pack up their equipment. With their basket of fish ready, they begin their walk home through the meadows.

  Seraphis begins reciting a verse from a book she’s been reading. “Life is energy, energy is fire, both come together and never expire.” She repeats the lines, lost in thought.

  “That’s a lovely poem,” her father says. “Is that from one of your mother’s books?”

  Seraphis nods. “I found it on her desk. I’ve memorized 42 of her books so far, but there are still a lot of books Mother doesnt let me read. Why?

  Her father explains, “Well, as you get older you’ll start to understand more, giving you more tools, it's not enough to read something. It’s like if I was to give one of your furry companions a fish wrapped in a thick cloth, he wouldn’t be able to get to the fish, But, if he was given the fish and had the knowledge necessary to unwarp the cloth, the whole process is more worth rewarding.“

  Seraphis ponders, then with a large grin she says, ”I understand, it is like when you brought home that large chest and you couldn’t pick the lock and you wagered on mother also not being able to open the chest, then she turned the chest to dirt before you finished your sentence. She had more tools to get to the coin inside and you didn’t.

  With a smile He rolls his eyes, ”You just had to remind me of that… Yes Phara, exactly, one of the many benefits of having a wizard in the house—though if only she could conjure up some dinner!”

  Seraphis laughs. “Well, she doesn't eat meat…How could she conjure cooked meat without knowing what it tastes like?”

  Her father grins. “I suppose she licks some before conjuring, but that’s not quite the same.”

  They both laugh heartily. As they approach the village, they see an old man, known as Crazy Pete, arranging rocks into various formations.

  Seraphis runs ahead. “How’s it going today, Sir Pete? Is your mind unraveling and is your world ending as always?”

  Crazy Pete responds with a bemused smile. “My mind unraveling could be normal. Perhaps it’s you who’s mad for not seeing things as they could be, only as they are. Maybe I should call you crazy.”

  Seraphis giggles. “Well, I don't call you crazy. Your eyes look perfectly normal to me!”

  Pete laughs. “I know a goddess that says she’s definitely crazy, and wishes she was more like you.”

  Seraphis stops walking for a second to ponder what Crazy Pete said, but she quickly continues skipping along.

  Seraphis’s father tosses Pete a fish. “Here’s a treat for you Crazy Pete.”

  Pete gratefully accepts it. “Thank you! I love chicken.”

  Seraphis, puzzled, says, “That’s not chicken; it’s fish.”

  Pete responds, “That’s true, but it used to be a chicken before it froze to death.”

  Seraphis’s eyes light up with curiosity. “Really? What was I”

  Pete smiles. “You were a dark goddess in the Netherhold”

  Seraphis laughs. “I always wanted to try my mother’s makeup”. She frolics around,

  ”As the Goddess of Night, I hereby declare tonight to be particularly warm for you, Sir Pete. I hope you sleep well.”

  “Thank you, Seraphis,” Pete says with a grin. “Now, let me enjoy this delicious chicken.”

  Seraphis laughs and runs back to her father. They arrive at their small stone house, where her father sets up an old wood bucket of ice and begins dumping the fish into it. Their home also serves as a small fish shop.

  Her father rushes in, calling out, “Seraphis, we’re a little late. I need to set up shop. Can you call Mom out here?”

  Seraphis chuckles. “I’m the Goddess of Darkness; you don’t command me, but I’ll do you a favor.”

  Seraphis pushed open the door to the back room, a space alive with the soft glow of enchanted candles, books and the rustle of ancient scrolls. Her mother, Denise, was hunched over a cluttered table strewn with vials and tomes, engaged in a heated discussion with a distressed woman. Seraphis very politely takes a seat in the corner of the room and grabs the first book over her shoulder and starts to read. Her mother makes quick eye contact with her, the distressed woman is not aware of the little girl's presence.

  Morvena glanced up from her book, her gaze sharp and analytical. “Black and webbed, you say? Do these rashes fluctuate in size, or are they consistent?”

  “They seem worse in the early morning, just as the sun rises,” Janisse replied, her voice quivering.

  Morvena muttered to herself as she rifled through her ingredients, “The Larlc Viger should be potent enough to disrupt their ailment, by passing their immune system.” She looked up with a steely resolve. “That will be 13 silver.”

  Janisse blinked, confusion and worry etched on her face. “Wait, what? No, I’m not trying to fight their immune systems—I need them to get better!”

  Before Janisse could voice more concerns, Morvena cut her off with a commanding tone. “Larlc Viger is a potent antidote for Nightcores. They’re the creatures afflicting your cattle. The potion works by poisoning your livestock, which in turn poisons the ghoul when it feeds. The cost is high because the main ingredient—extracted from stillborn leeches—is rare.”

  Janisse, taken aback and visibly uneasy, muttered, “What’s a Nightcore?”

  Morvena waved her hand dismissively. “Not your concern. The critical issue is to ensure the potion is effective. Unfortunately, you’ll need to sacrifice one of your cows to poison the ghoul. Nightcores are rare—singly, there is a very low chance that you would need to kill more than one of your cattle. But then again, I’ve met an intellectual troll, so the observable universe has a way of surprising us.”

  “I can’t poison my cows,” Janisse protested, her voice trembling. “There must be some other way—”

  Morvena’s eyes narrowed as she cut Janisse off, her tone clipped but unyielding. “If you don’t deal with this ghoul soon, it won’t stop at your cattle. It will eventually turn its hunger toward your family. Trust me, you don’t want to face a Nightcore’s appetite firsthand.” She added with a wry smile, “Besides 13 silver and sacrificing a few cows for the life of your family…isn’t such a high price to pay.”

  Janisse’s face paled further, the gravity of Morvena’s words sinking in. Seeing the distress etched on the woman’s face, Morvena’s expression softened just a fraction—a rare sight for her. “Alright, alright,” she said with a sigh, her tone shifting to a more accommodating register. “If you’re set against using the Larlc Viger, there’s another option. I could hunt the ghoul myself.”

  Janisse’s eyes widened in hope. “You’d do that?”

  Morvena nodded with a smirk. “Indeed. For double the price, of course. No cows will have to die, and you can go back to your simple life without further worry.” Her gaze was sharp, though her voice carried a hint of something almost akin to sympathy. “I suppose not everyone’s cut out for the dramatic sacrifices of farm life. But don’t worry—I’m well accustomed to dealing with these creatures. Just be ready to part with a bit more silver.”

  Janisse’s shoulders slumped in relief, though her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. “Double the price… I understand. Thank you.”

  Morvena waved a hand dismissively, her lips curving into a half-smile. “Just make sure you have the coins ready. I’ll handle the ghoul while you keep your cattle safe. And next time, maybe consider paying for the expertise rather than the high cost of desperation.”

  As Janisse left the house, she encountered Seraphis’s father outside, a striking figure who exuded warmth and charm. “Theron,” she said, her voice tinged with frustration, “I’ve got ghouls on my farm. Can you believe it? What have I done to anger the gods so?”

  Theron grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Ah, Janisse, the gods aren’t in the business of direct intervention. They give us chances to help ourselves. For instance, thank them for crafting my wonderful family. You could buy some fresh fish, perhaps find a potion to give the old dog a bit more pep in his step, or even hire a team of monster hunters—all without leaving Heliandria.”

  Janisse raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk on her lips. “It seems the gods put you in a position to profit from these problems. And maybe with a more ‘modest’ woman by your side, you’d have the perfect family.”

  Theron chuckled, his laughter infectious. “Oh, Janisse, you’re a brave soul to jest about my wife while she’s just inside. She adores her ‘blonde-haired lady stew’.” His eyes crinkled with amusement, though Janisse’s nervous laughter suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced that it was all in jest.

  With a final, hasty wave, Janisse quickly made her exit, leaving Theron to chuckle softly to himself.

  Morvena,, back within the confines of her shadowy abode, swiftly tidied her arcane tools, positioning the enchanted potions and mystical relics with practiced ease. Once satisfied, she turned her full attention to her daughter, her piercing gaze softening ever so slightly.

  “Good evening, my little Shadowling,” Morvena greeted, her voice a melodic blend of warmth and mystery. “How may I serve you tonight?” says playfully.

  Seraphis curtsied slightly, continuing her mother's playfulness, her youthful face a mix of reverence and excitement. “Apologies for the intrusion, Mother, but you’ve been summoned.”

  Morvena arched a brow, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “Summoned, you say? And by whom, pray tell?”

  “By none other than the Lord of Fishes himself,” Seraphis declared with a playful grin, referring to her father, Theron.

  Morvena chuckled, her laughter like the soft rustle of leaves in a darkened forest. “Ah, the Lord of the Fishes. In that case, I must don attire befitting such royal company.” She winked at Seraphis, continuing the playful charade.

  Seraphis giggled, delighted that her mother had joined in the game.

  With a graceful flourish, Morvena’s hands ignited with emerald flames, casting eerie, dancing shadows upon the walls. She whispered an incantation, and in a swirl of dark magic, her simple garments transformed into a gown of breathtaking beauty. The dress was a masterpiece of velvet so dark it seemed to drink in the light, with hints of deep green woven into its fabric, shimmering like moonlight on the surface of a midnight lake. Intricate designs etched in shadowy silver adorned the gown, and black lace curled around her shoulders and chest, adding a touch of ethereal elegance. The high collar, ruffled and adorned with onyx beads, framed her face with regal grace, while her hair, braided into a crown, gleamed with subtle enchantments. Her gloves, long and as black as night, hugged her arms, ending in sharp, tapering fingers that gleamed with a wicked sheen.

  “What do you think?” Morvena asked, twirling lightly. “Is this suitable attire for the Lord of Fishes?”

  Seraphis’s eyes sparkled with admiration. “You look magnificent, Mother! The Lord will surely be impressed.”

  Morvena smiled, a rare softness touching her features. “I’m glad you approve, my little Shadowling. But before I forget—” She conjured a scroll from thin air, pulling it from within her elegant lace glove as if it had always been there. The scroll appeared with a flash of shimmering purple light, the thick parchment adorned with hues of dark orange and stained browns, its surface gleaming with an oily iridescence. “Here you are, my dear Shadowling, a token of my appreciation for helping me gather those elusive Fairy Fish Leeches.”

  Seraphis’s eyes widened with delight as she gingerly took the scroll from her mother, her fingers trembling with excitement. “What is it, Mother?”

  Denise’s smile deepened. “It’s a scroll of conjuration, my clever girl. A means to summon companions for your adventures.” Seraphis, ever energetic and playful, had always longed for a sibling. Her only friendships were that she found connections with the creatures of the wild. She had a gift—an innate bond with the wilderness, one that both she and nature cherished.

  Tears of joy welled up in Seraphis’s eyes as she hugged her mother’s leg, careful not to drop the precious scroll. Slowly, she climbed onto her mother’s massive, dark mahogany desk, the wood rich with age and mystery. The scroll, large and ornate, required both of her small hands to carry. She placed it down with the utmost care, as if it were made of the finest glass, her eyes never leaving its glowing surface.

  With a burst of energy, Seraphis began clearing her mother’s desk, her hands moving swiftly and precisely. Enchanted items, glowing softly as she touched them, dimmed as they were carefully set aside. Each movement was a dance of efficiency, her small fingers deftly handling the arcane objects with a skill far beyond her years.

  Once the desk was clear, Seraphis returned to the scroll, her gaze fixed on the blood-orange glow that pulsed from within it. Her wide eyes reflected the light, captivated by its eerie beauty.

  Morvena watched her daughter in silence, her heart swelling with pride. She admired the young girl’s focus, her reverence for the magic that surrounded them. With a final glance, Morvena turned and quietly left the room, leaving Seraphis to her wonderment and the mysteries yet to unfold.

  Theron stood at the base of the hill, setting up his small fish stall as the sky bled with the hues of a fiery sunset—reds and oranges melting into hints of violet. Normally, twilight was no time to set up shop, but Theron had learned from his travels to the Eclipse Market that a group of city guards would soon be patrolling the roads near his farm. He was always plotting, his mind spinning like a web of interconnected schemes. Despite his easygoing demeanor, no one could guess the weight of the burden he carried. Both of his girls were in constant danger.

  They were both unregistered mages. Worse still, they dabbled in occultist magic—an offense that could lead to enslavement. Mages who drew their power from Netherhold were either imprisoned or experimented upon, becoming fodder for the kingdom’s war efforts. Even after their release, they were stripped of their magic, their lives forever tracked. And that fate was one Theron could not, would not, allow.

  As he hung the last of his fresh, gleaming fish on wooden racks, his hands moving with practiced efficiency, the evening air shifted. A chill rolled in—unnatural and still. His heart quickened, and he paused, sensing a presence before he even turned around.

  “How did I get so lucky?” he mused aloud, his voice carrying a mixture of admiration and awe. His eyes fixed on Morvena as she gracefully descended the hill toward him. The dying sunlight kissed her dark velvet dress, causing its green accents to shimmer in the red glow. She moved like a wraith, stepping effortlessly on the stone path, lifting her hem just enough to reveal her toes as they danced from stone to stone.

  Morvena smiled at her husband’s obvious infatuation. “My handsome, smelling of fish as always. How ever did this poor vegetarian manage to fall for you?” she teased, warmth threading her words.

  Theron laughed, pulling her into a gentle embrace. “Was this Seraphis’s idea? Getting you all dressed up like a lady of the court?”

  Morvena leaned into him, her voice playful. “She made you a lord today, so it’s only right I dress the part.” Her smile softened. “Though, truth be told, I’m far from any lady.”

  He grinned, squeezing her tighter. “With you and Seraphis by my side, I feel richer than any king.” His words hung between them—his wealth was in his family, his world revolving around his two enchanting girls.

  She chuckled, leaning back to meet his gaze. “Alright, love. What shall we do about these dead fish?”

  “Dead fish it is,” Theron replied with a smirk, stepping aside as he finished tying the last bundle of fresh fish to the rack.

  Morvena closed her eyes, her brow furrowing in concentration. Green flames flickered around her, licking at the edges of her dress. With a soft, burning hiss, her fine gown melted away, revealing her everyday clothes beneath. Raising her hands, she began the transformation—her smooth, pale fingers slowly withering, aging before his eyes. Theron moved back with a knowing smile, as if this eerie magic were as routine as chopping wood. The aging accelerated until her hands turned grotesque, rotting and deathly, the skin peeling away to reveal bone.

  Morvena’s eyes snapped open, glowing with an eerie light. She curled her fingers into tight fists, then snapped them open, releasing a cloud of decay over the fresh fish. The air around them soured, thick with the stench of rot and death, as if a hundred corpses had been exhumed.

  Theron inhaled deeply, his grin widening. “Magnificent,” he whispered, utterly amazed.

  Morvena let out a satisfied breath, the magic dissipating as she shook the rot from her hands. They returned to their normal, pale beauty. “There we are,” she said, smiling with satisfaction.

  Theron stepped forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You never fail to amaze me, love.”

  Morvena smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.They lock eyes, and a bone-chilling scream is heard by them both as if the night herself is whispering a warning.

  “The forest feeds on pain tonight”, Morvena whispered. Theron bows his head for a moment but doesn't lose his focus

  “I’ll be up the hill, keeping watch. But remember, love—if anything goes wrong, you can’t use your magic. Word is these city guards are carrying bloodstones. One use of magic, and their headquarters will know. The Regulators will be on us before we can blink.”

  “I know,” Morvena replied, her tone serious.

  Theron, with a smile, said, “But don’t worry. I’m close enough to handle them before they even reach for their swords.”

  Denise’s gaze softened as she kissed him again. “You’re wonderful,” she whispered before he hurried up the hill, disappearing into the shadows.

  Theron swung the door open with swift determination, his eyes immediately scanning the room. A flicker of candlelight danced in the distance from Denise’s chamber. “Seraphis, time for bed!” he called out firmly, his voice commanding yet gentle.

  “Alright, Father,” Seraphis’s voice chimed back.

  Wasting no time, Theron moved quickly, shoving furniture away from the large window overlooking the hill where Morvena waited below. With practiced efficiency, he approached a towering bookshelf, fingers deftly unlatching a hidden mechanism. The large bookcase, despite its imposing size, shifted with ease—it was enchanted, feather-light to the touch. As it slid aside, a cellar was revealed beneath the floor, dimly lit and brimming with weapons, magical artifacts, maps, and piles of gleaming silver coins.

  Theron descended into the cellar, his eyes locking onto a small bow mounted on the wall. Its craftsmanship was exquisite, intricate carvings woven along its length like a piece of art. He took it down, testing its weight, drawing the string back with a nod of approval. But just as he turned to ascend, something else caught his eye—a large black steel crossbow hanging in the shadows. Brutal and deadly, its front adorned with three wicked spikes.

  A slow grin spread across Theron’ face, his eyebrow arching in satisfaction. With a quiet chuckle, he swapped the delicate bow for the crossbow. He then reached into a tall metal bin, retrieving four massive bolts—heavy, barbed, and deadly. Straining slightly, he slung the crossbow over his back, his muscles flexing under the weight. Sweat trickled down his brow as he climbed back out of the cellar, the heavy bolts in hand.

  As he emerged, Seraphis appeared at the top of the stairs, her small figure illuminated by the flickering firelight. “Is it bad men or monsters this time?” she asked, her tone curious yet calm, as though such questions were routine.

  Theron, still catching his breath but smiling, ruffled her hair gently. “Bad men, my love. Now off to bed.” He watched as she gave a knowing nod, turning toward the large stone fireplace at the end of the room. Without hesitation, Seraphis walked directly into it, passing through the flames as though they were mere shadows, disappearing into the hearth as if it were a door to another world.

  Theron crouched by the window, positioning himself with the practiced ease of a seasoned hunter. The weight of the crossbow in his hands was immense, but he handled it like second nature. With a grunt of effort, he cocked a bolt into place, the heavy mechanism creaking as it locked in. His movements were fluid, effortless, the muscle memory of countless battles guiding him. His eyes just barely peered over the windowsill, his focus narrowing to the road below where Morvenasa

  A dim flicker of green flame caught his attention—Morvena had transformed into a hag, crone-like figure, her once-beautiful form twisted into that of an old, ugly sickly woman. She settled near the small fish stand, her posture slouched, her face hidden beneath the hood of her ragged cloak. Theron watched as a dull orange glow began to rise over the horizon, faint but unmistakable. The city guards were approaching, their torchlight cutting through the twilight gloom.

  By now, full darkness had fallen, and no common folk would be foolish enough to walk these roads after sundown. This could only be the guards, and they were getting closer.

  Theron inhaled deeply, steadying his breath. His eyes, usually full of mischief, now sharpened with deadly focus. He aimed the crossbow, every movement deliberate, his fingers tightening around the trigger as he waited.

  The guards' orange torchlight danced ever nearer, their armor clinking in the cool evening air. Theron exhaled slowly, his entire being centered on the moment, his mind calm, alert—a side of him few had ever witnessed.

  Tonight, he will protect his family. Whatever it takes.