...

  After the unsettling conversation with Zafiro—where Alexander decided to trust him, at least for now—he walked over to Green. The fairy was perched on the edge of a wide, cushioned chair, an empty carafe slipping from her loosening grip. Her rosy cheeks indicated the liquor had thoroughly worked its magic, and she looked on the verge of nodding off.

  'That lazy leech,' Alexander mused bitterly, knowing that Green cared little about any operations and probably had a plan b on hand should he be in some way condemned in the upcoming trial. Perhaps because of his Father, she didn't say anything—a fact he often forgot that most saw him as nothing but a toddler, trying to guide and educate him constantly.

  Alexander's shoulders slumped in resignation. He gently plucked the carafe from her hand before it could topple to the floor. "Green," he said, his voice steady but firm, "head home. I'll buy your talismans and potions later, so no more active support is needed. Just… give me a discount, okay?"

  Green blinked at him with half-closed eyes, her wings drooping in a show of utter relaxation only she could manage. "Sure," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Her nonchalant shrug made it clear she trusted him enough not to worry further or simply didn't care.

  A momentary hush fell over the onlookers. Alexander felt their gazes flick from Green back to him—relief from some, lingering tension from others, especially Zafiro, who sported a grin so large it nearly split his face.

  Alexander turned around with a sigh that chased away the last wisps of his own turmoil. He dropped onto the couch beside Sarah, who immediately reached out to caress the sensitive spot behind his ears. A comforting, intimate gesture—one that made his tail wag involuntarily. 'I need a change of pace,' he thought, letting out a low hum of approval at Sarah's touch. "Let's get on with Iron-Claw and wrap it up with Nine-Fire," he muttered as though organizing a mental checklist.

  Bjoern, towering at two meters tall—an impressive feat at his relatively young age—rose to introduce himself. "Name's Bjoern," he said formally. It was the standard courtesy, though briefer than most as if he were skipping all the extraneous fluff on purpose.

  When he addressed the support Alexander would receive, Bjoern's eyes locked with his—a surprising gravity in someone so young. "Me ol' man told me that dependin' on yer strength and talent, yer gonna earn a fair bit o' help." He paused, some wry amusement slipping into his steady tone. "Honestly, in every scenario I pictured, none ended with ya beatin' my sister half to death."

  At that, Freya gave a small, disgruntled huff but said nothing. Her gaze stayed glued to Alexander, who shrugged, unsure how else to respond. "Do you want me to fight again?" he asked, half-joking. Truthfully, his gut told him that he had to use on Bjoern everything in his arsenal to get a win.

  Bjoern chuckled, the corners of his mouth lifting in good humor. "Nah need." He folded the parchment in his hands with crisp efficiency. "Here's our contribution: ten thousand soldiers, ten thousand gold pieces, one hundred kilograms of Frost-infused Demonium, and one ton of Frost-infused Steel. But…” He hesitated as if weighing how best to phrase his request, then continued brightly. "I'd like ya to introduce our youngest sister, Aurora—a bright lad. She's about yer age and mighty intelligent, but… let's say a bit less—"

  Whatever Bjoern planned to say was cut off by Alexander's startled outburst. "Sarah! Damn it, my ears!" Alexander yelped. Sarah had tightened her grip on his ears in her sudden pique, her monstrous strength threatening to yank them clean off. With a gasp, she immediately let go, sliding back into gently caressing him while pinning Bjoern with a glare that could have cracked stone.

  Bjoern only laughed harder. "Clearly, nah need to provoke an assassination," he joked, hands raised in mock surrender. "Forget I mentioned Aurora. Just send word if ya need more from the family blacksmiths up north. They'll handle any armor or weapons ya want made from the Frost-infused metals."

  Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose, still feeling that tingle of pain. "I appreciate it. I'll personally thank your parents," he said, checking if his ears still worked. "Anything else?"

  Bjoern nodded. "Aside from the failed engagement talk and the narrowly avoided assassination attempt…" He shrugged playfully, yet there was a knowing flicker in his eyes. "These resources ain't come free. Our siblings need recognized positions—battle-oriented an' leadership roles." He detailed these demands succinctly, and Alexander found them reasonable, given how substantial their contribution was.

  Usually, he ignored such sudden requests, but after observing both of them, he gave them a reasonable position and challenged their abilities.

  Once Bjoern finished, Alexander clapped his hands, quietly relieved. "Right. Heart-Fire, you're up." He glanced at Persephone and the others, expecting the usual list of supplies and troops after a lengthy introduction.

  Persephone's cheeks reddened. "Um… we have… nothing," she mumbled, her short-haired ears slumping slightly—she exchanged uneasy looks with her siblings.

  A silence more deafening than any war horn descended. Alexander's eye twitched. "Please tell me this is a joke?"

  Lithe cleared his throat, looking sheepish. "I wish it were. Our household… well, they don't care much about external alliances. We only follow the Count's direct command," he chuckled slightly. "You know? That's also new for us."

  Alexander reined in his anger—just barely. He recalled the lengthy letter exchange with Persephone, all the planning he'd done to figure out how to help them best—from pushing his Helping Paw while ensuring none of their culture and traditions would be violated as she wished, only to discover they brought no tangible aid. 'I will paint the walls with their blood,' he snapped inwardly, though he forced his expression to remain neutral.

  Of course, Alexander would help either way in any territory. Still, it would come with a price—tax relief, support, and autonomy—but not the other way around, where he had to crawl around, hoping for goodwill, which he wouldn't get after all the work.

  Sensing Alexander's simmering fury, Narsiz stepped in with a voice as bright as sunlight after rain. "I'm sure we can find a use for Heart-Fire's talents," he suggested. "I've heard a lot about your powers."

  Styx, one of Persephone's siblings, puffed out his chest proudly. "We—"

  Narsiz held up a hand to cut him off, still determined to smooth things over while occasionally glancing nervously at Alexander. "Let's move on. We can sort out specific roles later. Everyone all right with that?"

  The Heart-Fire group nodded bashfully, relieved to drop the subject. Before Alexander could vent his frustration, a faint whisper drifted into his mind, carried by a subtle telepathic spell:

  He exhaled slowly, letting go of the tension in his knotted shoulders. "Fine, who's next?" he asked, flicking his gaze around until it landed on Isabella—who he remembered was a runaway with no resources. He swiftly pivoted to Yvonne and Clara. "Nine-Fire, you're up."

  Clara stood and cleared her throat, looking uncharacteristically nervous. Nevertheless, she went through the introductions and presented their contribution, which was modest but reliable: a thousand soldiers, two thousand gold pieces, and access to their Lord's wide-reaching information network—likely already feeding intelligence to Quill.

  When she was finished, Alexander clapped slowly, like a man who could see the finish line at the end of a long, exhausting day. 'It's almost over,' he thought wearily. He stood up to address everyone at once. "This meeting was primarily for transparency, for seeing who you're allied with and what everyone will contribute!"

  Alexander strode to the front and entirely changed into the charismatic and caring boy he was at every speech. "This is not a game, not some fun pastime, but we will kill others, friends we drank with will die, and you may experience humiliation or disgust, but this is war, and you will collect the experience you so much seek!"

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The following minutes were about the next steps. Alexander announced that he had to leave and temporarily handed over decision-making power to Narsiz. "If anyone has issues with their assigned roles, we'll sort that out on the island. Trust me, I won't be hard to find."

  He started to gather his things, speaking with a renewed briskness that hinted at some lingering urgency in his schedule. "I need to meet with Pascal and Lavafist next. Lila," he gestured for her, "I'm counting on you to guide me into the Eros Alliance territory. I'll return to Wolfsteeth first to wrap up a few matters at the Helping Paw. Then I'm gone."

  Before officially excusing himself, he talked with Isabella, trying to address her concerns privately. He said she should read his pamphlet about conduct in war and then the Heart-Fire, pushing them to become a juggernaut—a position that the strongest held and usually battled other higher-tiered individuals. Then he drifted over to where Clara and Yvonne stood. He offered them a warm, almost paternal smile that belied his earlier impatience. "Please give Patricia my regards," he said. "I heard she's having difficulties not joining my expedition."

  Clara and Yvonne exchanged tense glances, their smiles tremulous. "Sure," Clara managed, a forced, nervous laugh escaping her. "You could always write to her—maybe in a couple of months?"

  Alexander cocked his head but nodded, letting his curiosity drop for now. "As long as she's breathing, she's fine," he said, fully aware that, in this world, survival was often the highest bar to measure someone's well-being.

  "Well, everyone," Alexander declared, raising his voice to address the gathering once more. "It was a pleasure meeting you all—or at least, most of you." A small flicker of humor danced across his face. "I'll see you at the front soon, and I promise you'll be pleasantly surprised by my preparations."

  Turning on his heel, he motioned for Zafiro to follow. "Come on," he said quietly. "We have some important things to discuss." His tone promised that whatever he had to say was important, making Zafiro smile widely, already starting a chat. "Oh? How exciting!" he said, his guards trailing close behind.

  With that, Alexander strode out, Sarah trailing close behind, leaving the noisy room gradually of the many allied (and less-than-allied) heirs who were just beginning to understand the weight of the approaching storm. And though some parted with chuckles, gentle jibes, and polite bows, a tangible undercurrent of tension lingered, hinting at future trials that would test every single one of them.

  Some time ago, in the city of Foxsteeth, a young fox-kin girl darted down the narrow alleyways. Her fur—coal-black and sleek—rippled with tension beneath her simple traveling cloak, and her eyes, an intense orange-red, shone with determination cut through by a palpable undercurrent of fear.

  Patricia's thoughts raced with each step, a chaotic tangle of anxiety and desperate resolve. 'No, no, no!' she berated herself, her lungs burning from exertion and lack of proper rest. She had barely slept in weeks, her mind churning endlessly over Alexander and how he'd slipped out of her reach. 'I need to hear it from him!' she silently pleaded.

  The news of Alexander's engagement to Sarah had blindsided her, fueling an impulse to flee the North altogether. But Roland, ever watchful and overbearing, thwarted her escapes at every turn. The moment he required Scarlet's assistance in attacking the Vulcanic Forge, Patricia found herself shipped back home like a troublesome package—shackled with a slave collar, no less.

  'Ironic, isn't it?' she thought bitterly. 'They don't trust me, yet they've given me enough time to recall all those old lessons Alexander taught.' Because even unable to move, Alexander had once walked her through the convoluted mechanics of disabling such devices. He'd been unable to move much back then, but his instructions had been sharp and detailed. Every success Patricia achieved with the collar—every elegant movement of her wisp of mana as she worked to disable it—felt like a small rebellion on her part—after half a dozen failures and electroshocks, she made it.

  Patricia careened toward the city gate, her heart pounding like a war drum. A sudden surge of [Energy] prickled the air, causing the fur along her ears and tail to rise. 'Mother…' Patricia skidded to a halt, horror gnawing at her gut. An ornate, parasitic garden of flowers—each petal brimming with oppressive [Energy]—began blossoming around her feet.

  "Dear daughter…" came a voice that seemed to reverberate through the entire district, forcing bystanders to scatter for cover. The icy, contemptuous tone rang in Patricia's ears with a fury only a parent scorned could evoke. "You've grown far too free-spirited."

  Patricia's pupils dilated in alarm. She fought back panic by calling on her binding monster, her thoughts ringing out like a clarion call. 'Char, I need you—now!' A black mist poured from her chest, swirling around her body with a dark, protective presence.

  Impatience bled into her Mother's following words. "You have chosen this!" Vines thick as tree trunks shot forth from the parasitic flower bed, piercing the mist in a flurry of glowing thorns. But when they finally speared through, there was no one inside. Patricia had already vanished.

  She reappeared atop a nearby building, breath ragged, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Her form rippled with borrowed power: her legs were now more lupine and muscular, allowing her to spring from rooftop to rooftop in quick, agile leaps. Her raven-dark hair and tail lengthened as if alive, streaming behind her like a cape of shadows.

  Though she possessed such uncanny abilities, courtesy of her tamed monsters; dread still curdled in her stomach. 'Char, give me everything!' she cried inwardly, attempting to invoke a powerful skill one of her other contracted creatures possessed. But all that came back was a trembling whimper.

  Patricia's shoulders clenched. She could sense her Mother's presence closing in, like a looming thundercloud on a violent night—the increasing stench of bloom was undeniable, slithering through every nook and cranny. She needed an escape—any escape—and her gaze darted along the labyrinthine skyline until she spotted an old, disused well. She remembered Fiorello and how he told her those led to the underworld; even if those rumors were half-true, they offered a chance.

  Flowers and vines erupted around her again, each petal glimmering with lethality and beauty. Patricia dropped into a plume of shadowy smoke, evading the attack by mere inches. Then, with a forceful bound, skidding from one shadow to another, she dove straight into the dark maw of the well.

  'I'm coming for you, Alex,' she vowed as she plummeted, the echo of her Mother's outraged howl chasing her down into the depths.

  ...

  Henry, a teenage raccoon-kin, gripped Luise by the shoulders with trembling hands. The cat-kin girl met his panicked gaze, her tail lashing in anxious jerks. Together, they hovered at the edge of a once-bustling courtyard—now one of the few places in the city not yet strangled by the creeping, parasitic [Energy].

  "Wh-what are we supposed to do?" Henry's voice broke, sending tears trailing down his cheeks. His ears flattened against his head as he all but clung to Luise for security. "Everything's against us… We're… we're going to die, Lu! Die!"

  Though fear churned inside her, too, Luise drew in a shaking breath and attempted to keep a brave face for Henry's sake. She slipped a comforting arm around him, the tips of her nails inadvertently grazing his back. "Henry, look at me," she urged, her voice low but steady. "We'll get through this somehow."

  She tore her gaze away to search for an escape route—a narrow alley, a hatch to the city underbelly, anything—only to feel a sudden lightness at her waist. Before she could react, her small pouch of coins tumbled to the ground with a clink. The precious money, their meager savings from weeks of washing dishes and scrubbing floors in a dingy tavern, scattered in shimmering arcs across the cobblestones.

  In an instant, malignant [Energy] tendrils writhed forward, latching onto the coins. The metal hissed, then sizzled, dissolving like sugar tossed into boiling water. Luise froze, tears brimming in wide, disbelieving eyes.

  "No… no!" The single word quavered out of her like a tortured wail. She sank to her knees, pressing a hand over her mouth as if that might stifle her sobs. "I don't want to waitress in a filthy pub again!" Her voice broke, half-choked by fury and despair. "We worked so hard…"

  Henry's own tears flowed freely. The raccoon-kin crouched beside her, his bushy tail drooping to the ground. He draped his arms around her shoulders, desperate to provide a fraction of comfort. But a faint, almost delirious thought squirmed into his mind: 'Is dying better than working as a cleaner in some dirty kitchen?'

  He lifted his gaze just enough to notice a small group of youths playing cards nearby, unperturbed by the creeping [Energy]. They sat on crates, the swirling mass of corrupted power casting eerie shadows across the makeshift table.

  "Hey!" Henry called out, voice raw with desperation. "Why are you just… so calm?!" He gestured around, indicating the jagged blossoms of [Energy] devouring Foxsteeth one stone at a time. "Everyone else ran for it when that scary voice shook the city!"

  One of the card players, a lanky boy with doglike ears, turned lazily to look over his shoulder. His tail swept the ground behind him in slow, idle arcs. "Watcha mean? This?" he said, jerking a thumb at a blackish vine. "S'just the Lady doin' her thing, yeah? Gets mad, ya know?"

  Luise halted her sobs for a half second, a flicker of astonishment crossing her eyes. 'They're not afraid?' But the reality of their predicament slammed back into her chest, wrenching out even louder sobs. "We… we have to work again! Ah!" Her cry ricocheted through the courtyard like a lamentation.

  Henry's face crumpled anew, tears welling up once more. "No! We'll never get to Wolfsteeth!"

  As the two of them dissolved into grief, the dog-eared youth shrugged and returned to his card game. His companion gave a quick sideways glance, then muttered under his breath, "Weirdos."

  Only the faint shuffle of cards and the low hum of malignant power remained to fill the quiet. And in that dissonant moment—caught between supernatural havoc and the crushing weight of lost hopes—Henry and Luise clutched each other, too overwhelmed by the idea of returning to their grim, grinding servitude to pay much mind to the city's impending doom.

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