The Beast caught Elysia as she fell, then dropped to the ground, grabbed Zarathys, and retreated to the stairs, shielding the two from the flames erupting from the explosion.

  "Damn," the Beast muttered. "You could’ve beaten the mermaid with that spell."

  Exhausted, Elysia replied, "Probably…" before losing consciousness.

  When the fire finally vanished, they returned to the chamber. The chains had fallen to the ground, the entire room in ruins. Lava poured in from every direction.

  "You think the kid survived that blast?" Zarathys asked, eyes scanning the wreckage.

  The Beast, still sensing the aura now radiating from the child, answered, "Yes. He’s still alive."

  Suddenly, from the shattered chains, a massive firebird erupted into the air, carrying the boy. It flew to the ceiling, tore through the stone, and escaped the depths of the earth.

  The Beast recognized the firebird. Without wasting a second, he scooped up Elysia and Zarathys in his arms, walked over to retrieve his axe—gripping it between his teeth—then spread his wings and took flight, soaring after the firebird through the blazing tunnel.

  He emerged at the surface. The firebird was waiting, hovering in the air. It gently laid the boy on the ground.

  The Beast stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "That aura… it wasn’t the child. It was you. You’re one of the King’s Guardians. Answer me—where is he? What happened to him? Why were you trapped in that chamber?"

  The firebird turned its head slightly, its burning eyes calm. "His will shall awaken," it said.

  Then, in a brilliant burst of flame, the firebird vanished.

  Zarathys didn’t understand anything from their conversation. He gently asked the Beast, "Can you take us back to Noxtharian? We need rest, the kid and Elysia need urgent healing."

  The Beast agreed to their request. He spread his wings once more and soared into the skies, flying them back home.

  When they reached the gates of their kingdom, he gently laid them on the ground, called out for the guards, and said, "I will need you both in the future. Rest for now. I shall return. There are still questions I wish to ask you."

  Zarathys looked up and asked, "At least… can you tell us your name?"

  The Beast turned, his wings already rising. "My name is Thryzalorn, Warlord of the Fallen King’s Army."

  Then, with a powerful beat of his wings, he vanished into the sky.

  The guards at the gate arrived, alarmed. One of them asked, "What happened here? We saw something flying away from your position!"

  Zarathys, exhausted and barely standing, replied, "We just need rest and healing for now. We’ll give you a full report of our expedition later."

  The guards nodded, picked them up gently, opened the gate, and carried them into the town infirmary.

  They soon arrived at the infirmary, where healers rushed to their aid.

  After a full day of healing and rest, Zarathys was the first to wake. His life no longer in danger, he rose from the infirmary bed and caught sight of himself in a mirror. There, on his shoulder, he noticed something strange—where the chains had once bound him was now a black, seal-shaped burn. A supernatural mark.

  He called over one of the healers and asked about the mark. The healer examined it carefully and shook his head. "We’ve never seen anything like this before. It doesn’t match any known curse or magical seal."

  Zarathys frowned. "What about Elysia and the boy?"

  Just then, the chief healer entered a tall man with a voice like cold wind. His name was Korrivel Dreathe, a master of forbidden restorations and ancient anatomy. "I personally oversaw their care," he said gravely. "The boy is stable… but Elysia…"

  He paused. "She’s in a critical state," said Korrivel Dreathe. "Whatever power she channeled it tore through her body like wildfire. Thanks to the blessing of my benediction, I was able to stop the side effects of the curses she invoked. But right now, she needs water from the Fountain of Abysmor, located in Cinderfells, the oceanic kingdom, to fully recover."

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  Zarathys lowered his head, guilt tightening in his chest. "Because of my weakness… she ended up like this. I swear, I’ll do everything I can to make sure she’s fully healed."

  Suddenly, an explosion shook the infirmary. A beam of fire erupted from the chamber where the child rested, piercing the sky. For a few seconds, a massive symbol of a flaming bird appeared in the heavens—then vanished. Moments later, the child finally awakened and emerged from the rubble of the destroyed chamber, his right arm on his forehead, trying to remember what happened to him.

  Zarathys and Korrivel rushed to the site of the explosion. Amid the smoke and crumbled stone, the child stood untouched, without a single scratch.

  Korrivel, eyes wide with disbelief: "By the ancient gods... not even a burn. Who no, what are you, child?"

  "My name is Aeron. I was part of an army... fighting for a king. Then, in the middle of a battle, I was cursed. Chains erupted from the ground and dragged me down. Everything went black after that—until now."

  Zarathys and Korrivel exchanged confused glances. Zarathys finally asked, "How could a child like you be in an army?"

  Aeron lowered his eyes. "I don’t know," he replied. "That’s all my memory gives me. Just fragments… nothing more."

  The guards then arrived, accompanied by Syrrak a male operative from the Aelvarion faction. (The Aelvarion faction is a branch of the kingdom’s army, specialized in intelligence gathering and maintaining peace.) Syrrak proceeded to arrest Aeron, chaining his arms, and instructed Zarathys to follow him to their faction’s base. He told the guard to repair the broken part of the infirmary chamber.

  They arrived at the faction's base. Syrrak led them into his office and began interrogating both Zarathys and Aeron, demanding the full story everything that had happened to them from the very beginning.

  Zarathys began recounting their journey: the adventure in the underground, the chained child, the explosion in the infirmary, and finally, Aeron’s awakening.

  Several hours later, he finished his story.

  Syrrak leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

  “You really think I’m going to believe this bullshit?” he snapped. “A kid with memory loss who claims he was in some ancient king’s army, fighting a war no one remembers?”

  He stood, pacing slowly across the room, then turned sharply toward Aeron.

  “And you,” he growled, “can you even prove anything about what you just said? Because from where I stand, it looks like the two of you just dragged a cursed child into my kingdom’s infirmary, destroyed half of it, and now expect me to believe he’s some long-lost warrior?"

  Aeron stepped forward.

  “Firstly, I apologize for the damage I caused… and for what happened to Elysia,” he said calmly. “Secondly, I want to thank you for taking care of me. I understand I arrived here as a stranger. But thirdly if proof is what you want—I can show you. I can fight. I can defend myself… and others.”

  Syrrak, arms still crossed, studied the boy carefully. There was something in Aeron’s voice something steady, composed. His tone was respectful, not fearful. His manners were sharp, and for a moment, Syrrak saw a glimpse of what might be a trained warrior beneath the child's exterior.

  “…You speak well,” Syrrak said at last. “And I can sense a trace of truth in your words. But truth alone is not enough.”

  He turned away, motioning for them to follow.

  “If you truly are a warrior from a king’s army, then prove it. Show me your abilities… in combat. One-on-one.”

  He led them through a set of stone corridors beneath the faction's headquarters, down into the underground training chambers—used for testing elite soldiers and potential recruits.

  They arrived at the underground training chamber. Zarathys said to Aeron, "Hey kid, I hope you know what you’re doing. Syrrak—the opponent you’re going to face—won’t go easy on you just because you’re a kid." Aeron stared at him for a few seconds, then continued walking to the arena, ignoring his warning.

  Syrrak jumped into the arena and called out to Zauryn, a sixteen-year-old new recruit with potential to join the Royal Army Academy. He said to Aeron, "First, you’ll face this man. I want to see what you can do against him before I crush you." Aeron descended the stairs slowly and calmly to the arena. He arrived at the center, where Zauryn stood. Both of them stared at each other coldly. Syrrak announced the rules of the fight: "The first one to knock the other down or make him lose consciousness wins."

  Then he threw wooden lances to both of them. They picked them up, and Syrrak shouted, "Let the battle begin!"

  Zauryn used a burst of quickstep and lunged forward, swinging his lance in a wide arc aimed directly at Aeron’s head. Aeron rolled to the ground just in time, dodging the deadly strike. His hand brushed against the arena floor, grabbing a small stone. Without hesitation, he whispered an incantation under his breath:

  “O bleeding void, O fang of night, Hear my curse, take deadly flight. Let flesh be torn, let bone be split, Through shadow's will, this stone be lit. Pierce the heart, and stain the soul— One life for wrath, one wound whole.”

  The small stone glowed with a black and white aura. Its size began to grow unnaturally. Then, with sharp precision, Aeron hurled it straight at Zauryn—so fast that his eyes couldn’t even follow its path.

  But Syrrak reacted instantly.

  Reading the velocity and trajectory in a split-second, he swung his shield into the path of the stone. It struck with a force that sent shockwaves through the air. The impact deflected the cursed projectile to the arena wall, where it blasted a massive hole—then obliterated the wall entirely.

  Zauryn stood frozen, eyes wide.

  If Syrrak hadn’t intervened… would I still be alive?

  Syrrak looked at the damaged wall, then back at Aeron and started laughing. Then he said, "Hey kid, now I’m starting to believe the story you told me." He told Zauryn to get back and declared Aeron the winner of the duel between them. Zauryn, leaving the arena, looked at Aeron as he climbed the stairs, thinking to himself: Where did this kid come from? I’ve never heard of him or seen him at the training sessions. How can he use an incantation this strong at his age? So many questions without an answer.

  Syrrak asked Zauryn to throw him his lance, looked at Aeron, and said, "Let the real test begin."