The room buzzed with unease as everyone tried to process the impossible: Kaldor was with us, but he was also… not. At the back of the room, Kaldor stood frozen, his broad shoulders tense, his expression a whirlwind of confusion and frustration.

  Finally, he surged forward, his heavy footsteps pounding like thunder on the floorboards.

  “Duke,” Kaldor said, his voice low but trembling. “Tell me. Are you absolutely sure? You’re saying... I was there?”

  I looked him in the eye, the gravity of my words clear in my tone. “I’m sure, Kaldor. It was you—your face, your voice, your... everything.”

  Kaldor’s fists clenched at his sides. “But I was here. With you. I would never—”

  “We know that,” Mira interjected softly, stepping up and placing a calming hand on his arm. “We know you wouldn’t. But someone made it look like you did.”

  Vaelrik’s wings unfolded sharply, their powerful span brushing the walls as he stepped toward the door. His spear, already in hand, gleamed ominously in the dim light. His jaw was tight, his patience clearly fraying as his gaze swept over the group.

  “Stay here,” he ordered, his voice a low growl that left no room for argument. “This is no place for children.”

  “But—” Sylas began, her defiant tone cut short as Vaelrik turned his piercing gaze on her.

  “No buts,” he snapped. “This isn’t a game. I’ll find whoever’s behind this.”

  Before anyone could protest further, Vaelrik launched himself through the broken window and into the night, his wings beating with a force that stirred a gust through the room. In seconds, he was gone, a shadow streaking across the darkened sky, his spear gripped tightly as he disappeared from sight.

  Mira’s healing magic still faintly glowed as she continued, her voice steady. “Think back, Kaldor. Did anything unusual happen today? Did you meet anyone suspicious?”

  Kaldor’s brow furrowed, his ears twitching slightly as he started to pace. “Suspicious? I... maybe. This morning, when we visited those places, there were a few people who stood out.”

  Sylas leaned forward, her arms crossed tightly. “Go on.”

  “There was this merchant in the southern square,” Kaldor began, his tone thoughtful. “Kept asking weird questions—where I was from, how long I was staying, stuff like that. I thought it was just harmless curiosity, but now...”

  “That’s one,” Mira prompted. “Who else?”

  Kaldor nodded, his pace quickening. “There were two cloaked figures in the Hall of Relics. They just... stared at me. For way too long. I even waved to try and break the tension, but they turned and left without a word.”

  “Creepy,” Sylas muttered, her sharp eyes narrowing.

  “And the last one?” I pressed.

  Kaldor stopped pacing and turned to us, his face darkening. “A tall guy, scruffy-looking. He bumped into me by accident. When I apologized, he barely reacted—just kept mumbling to himself and walked away.”

  “What did he mumble?” Mira asked, her healer’s instincts making her voice softer.

  Kaldor shook his head. “I couldn’t catch it. Something about... keys? Or gates? I don’t know, it didn’t make sense.”

  Sylas slammed a fist into her palm. “That’s it. That’s the one. It has to be.”

  “Maybe,” I said cautiously. “But why target Kaldor specifically?”

  Before we could theorize further, Sylas suddenly bolted for the stairs.

  “Sylas!” I shouted. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?” she snapped back without stopping. “I’m not sitting here while someone out there is pretending to be Kaldor. It’s disgusting, and I’m going to help Vaelrik find them!”

  Kyla rushed in from the kitchen, her face pale with worry. “Sylas, please. We don’t have weapons, no map, no plan—nothing. You’re just running into danger!”

  Sylas spun on her heel, her green eyes blazing. “I don’t care! They used Kaldor’s face to do something horrible, and I’m not going to let them get away with it!”

  As Sylas kept running ahead, I groaned, realizing she wasn’t going to stop. Stubborn as always. With a resigned sigh, I pushed myself to catch up. “Fine! If you’re going, I’m coming too. Someone has to keep you out of trouble.”

  “Duke, no!” Mira protested. “You’re still recovering from—”

  Sylas glanced back at me, her eyes a mix of gratitude and defiance. “I’m not helpless, you know,” she shot back.

  “Sure, but you’re impulsive,” I muttered under my breath, though loud enough for her to hear.

  The commotion caught the others’ attention. Kael stepped forward, frowning. “If you two are going, then so am I. It’s smarter to split up anyway. We can cover more ground.”

  “I’ll go with him,” Kaldor added, his voice steady but edged with concern.

  Behind them, Mira and Kyla exchanged a look before Mira nodded firmly. “We’ll stick together. It’s safer that way.”

  I took a quick breath, trying to steady my thoughts, and laid out the plan. “Alright. Sylas and I will check out the forge. Jorven mentioned hearing noises there, so it’s our best lead. Kael, Kaldor—you two take the north side. Mira, Kyla—you cover the west. Stick together, stay alert, and keep your knives ready. This isn’t a game.”

  Everyone nodded. The air felt heavier as we threw on light cloaks and grabbed small knives for protection. With that, we stepped into the night, the cool air biting against my skin. Each group headed in a different direction, the tension thick enough to choke on.

  The city was as naturally quiet as on other nights, the usual hum of life replaced by an oppressive silence. Street lamps operated by fire magic scrolls flickered weakly, their light barely cutting through the darkness. Shadows danced on the cobblestones, twisting and shifting with the faint breeze.

  Sylas glanced around nervously, her shoulders tense, though she tried to mask it with a smirk. “Creepy, isn’t it? Like one of those ghost stories Kael tells to scare us.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle faintly, though my eyes stayed locked on the shadows around us. “Yeah, but this time it’s not a story. Someone’s out there, Sylas.”

  Her smirk faltered for a moment before she sighed. “You think we’re ready for this? I mean, knives against someone who can impersonate Kaldor? Seems like we’re punching above our weight.”

  “We don’t have a choice,” I said quietly. “Besides, if we don’t find them, who will?”

  She tilted her head thoughtfully. “True. But if we do find them, you’ve got my back, right?”

  “Always,” I said, giving her a sidelong glance. “And you’ve got mine?”

  “Obviously,” she replied with mock indignation, though her voice softened a little. “Do you ever think about home? About how simple things used to be?”

  The question caught me off guard, but I nodded slowly. “Sometimes. I miss those quiet days when our biggest problem was figuring out what to do after lunch.” I paused, letting out a small sigh. “But we can’t go back, Sylas. Not after everything that’s happened.”

  “Doesn’t mean we can’t dream,” she said, her voice wistful. “If we survive this, maybe we can… I don’t know, make a life for ourselves that feels like home again.”

  Before I could answer, I noticed something out of place—a faint, irregular scuff mark on the cobblestones leading toward an alley. I crouched down, examining it closely. “Look at this,” I said, motioning for Sylas to come closer.

  She peered over my shoulder. “A drag mark? Like someone was carrying something heavy?”

  “Possibly,” I muttered. “Or someone wasn’t steady on their feet. Either way, it’s fresh.”

  Sylas nodded, her earlier wistfulness replaced by sharp focus. She glanced toward the alley, narrowing her eyes. “Think they went this way?”

  “Maybe.” I stood up, gripping my knife tighter. “Stay close.”

  We moved cautiously, the narrow alley pressing in on us. The air felt heavier here, colder even, as though the night itself was watching. Sylas tapped my arm lightly.

  “Do you remember that time we snuck out back home to catch fireflies?” she whispered.

  I glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with now?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. It just… feels like that, in a way. Dark, quiet, and we're sneaking around.”

  I snorted softly. “Except back then, we weren’t hunting someone who could kill us.”

  “True,” she said with a faint grin. “But I liked that night. It was peaceful.”

  The fond memory brought a fleeting warmth to my chest, but it faded quickly as a sudden thud echoed from just ahead.

  We both froze, our breaths caught in our throats. My grip on the knife tightened as Sylas glanced at me, her bravado slipping for just a moment. “You heard that, right?”

  “Yeah,” I whispered, nodding. Slowly, we crept forward, our steps deliberate and quiet. The alley opened up into the street again, where the sound had come from.

  “Over there,” Sylas murmured, pointing to a dark corner near the forge. A pile of old crates lay scattered, one toppled over as if something—or someone—had disturbed it.

  “Stay behind me,” I said, edging closer. My heart pounded, each beat echoing in my ears as I strained to hear anything else—a breath, a shuffle, anything.

  Sylas didn’t listen, stepping up beside me. “What if it’s just a stray animal?”

  “Then we’ll leave it alone,” I muttered. “But if it’s not…”

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  A faint, almost imperceptible scrape came from behind the crates. We both tensed, exchanging a quick glance. “Together,” she whispered, and I nodded.

  We moved as one, rounding the corner to confront whatever lay in wait.

  My face tense and my hand gripped tightly on the knife until I vividly see the person apperance. It was Vaelrik, he landed before us, his wings folding in sharply. His spear was still gripped tightly in his hand, the tip glinting faintly in the weak light.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice sharp. “And where are the others?”

  I quickly explained the situation, keeping my voice low and steady. Vaelrik listened, his expression hardening further with each word.

  “The culprit,” he said after a pause. “It’s true. They took Kaldor’s form. I saw them up close—a male drakonian with dark, jagged scales and wings like torn shadows. I injured him, but he escaped—flew straight into the clouds.”

  Sylas gritted her teeth. “So they’re still out there. And you just let them go?”

  Vaelrik’s eyes flashed with irritation. “Do you have any idea how fast they were? Be grateful they’re injured. It’ll slow them down.”

  I stepped in before Sylas could escalate things further. “Thank you, Vaelrik. Please, check on the others. Kaldor’s heading north, and Kyla’s west.”

  Vaelrik’s gaze lingered on Sylas for a moment, his brow furrowing, but he gave a sharp nod. “Be careful. Whoever did this might still be close.”

  “We will,” I assured him. “Just make sure the others are safe.”

  With a flap of his wings, Vaelrik took to the skies once more, his silhouette vanishing into the night. I turned back to Sylas, who was still bristling slightly

  Suddenly, I remembered Kaldor’s innate ability. The ability to track down places where he has the scent of. So if they impersonate Kaldor, does that mean they have his scent too? Worth a try…

  “We need to find Kaldor,” I said firmly. “If they used his scent or something else unique to him, he might be able to track them.”

  Sylas clenched her fists, then sighed, her usual spark dimmed but not extinguished. “Fine. But if we run into whoever’s behind this, no holding me back.”

  “We’ll deal with that if it happens,” I replied, starting off. “For now, let’s move.”

  Part in me is still scared that if my theory won’t work and we will waste our time entirely, but let’s just hope for the best.

  The cool night air bit at our faces as we sprinted through the streets, shadows playing tricks on my eyes with every flicker of the sparse lanterns. My heart pounded, not just from the exertion but from the weight of everything hanging in the balance.

  Sylas broke the silence between breaths. “Do you think Kyla’s okay? She’s not exactly… a fighter.”

  I didn’t answer immediately, instead pushing myself to run faster. “That’s why we need to hurry.”

  Finally, we reached an intersection where Kael and Kaldor were waiting, their faces lit with a mixture of relief and urgency.

  “Kaldor,” I panted, barely able to catch my breath. “Can you track them? If it’s your scent, can you follow it?”

  “Wait a minute, what’s the matter?” Kaldor asked

  “Yea, I thought you guys were going South. And what does Kaldor’s scent have to do with this?” Kael chimed in

  Before I could answer, Sylas, as if he saw my tiredness, spoke up, “We theorized that if the culprit impersonates you, they might have taken your scent too. So can you try to track it down? We don’t have enough time for this!”

  With a shrug, Kaldor closed his eyes, his ears twitching as he inhaled deeply, his beastkin instincts sharp and focused. After a tense moment, he opened his eyes and nodded. “I can feel it. It’s faint, but I’ve got something. West. Toward Kyla’s route.”

  Sylas’s eyes widened slightly. “Toward Kyla and Mira? If they were after her—”

  “We’ll figure that out when we get there,” I interrupted. “Kael.” I turned to him. “Go get Vaelrik or anyone. Bring them back to the house. If we’re wrong, someone needs to regroup and protect it. And if we’re correct… wait for the signal.”

  Kael hesitated, his face tightening with conflict. “But what if you need backup? I don’t like splitting up even more.”

  “We don’t have time to argue,” Sylas cut in, her voice sharp. “Kyla and Mira might already be in trouble. Go, Kael!”

  Kael clenched his jaw but nodded reluctantly, his frustration clear. “Fine. But don’t do anything stupid, you three. And stay alive.”

  “You too,” I said, giving him a nod of gratitude before turning to Kaldor. “Lead the way.”

  Without another word, we sprinted west, following Kaldor’s lead as he tracked the faint scent. The streets grew narrower and darker the further we went, the shadows thickening like a veil. Sylas broke the silence again.

  “What do we do if we’re too late?” she asked quietly, her voice uncharacteristically unsure.

  “We won’t be,” I said firmly, though my grip on the knife tightened. “We can’t be.”

  We sprinted toward the outskirts of the city, following Kaldor’s unwavering lead. The narrow streets gave way to open land, where the scenery changed drastically. It was a quiet, serene space—lush gardens stretched out in patches of greenery, surrounding a beautiful stone fountain in the center. The gentle sound of water cascading was the only noise in the stillness.

  Kaldor stopped abruptly and turned to us. “This is it,” he said, his voice firm. “The scent ends here.”

  Sylas and I exchanged skeptical glances. “An open field?” I muttered. “This doesn’t feel right. Why would anyone hide out here?”

  “Unless...” Sylas’s voice trailed off, her sharp eyes scanning the area. “It’s under cover.” She crouched beside the fountain, staring into its rippling water. “They might’ve used barrier magic to create an illusion. If I can find the source of the spell, we can disrupt it without alerting them.”

  “Wait, how do you even—?” I started, but Sylas was already reaching into the fountain. Her hand emerged with a faintly glowing stone, its light pulsing softly.

  “Glowstone,” she said, more to herself. “It’s usually the focal point for these kinds of spells.” Without hesitation, she conjured an earth spike from the ground and struck the stone, shattering it into shards.

  The air shimmered around us like a heatwave. Then, behind us, the illusion dissolved, revealing a towering wooden structure. The building looked like an abandoned warehouse, its dark timber walls weathered and cracked, the windows boarded up. Creeping vines climbed the exterior, and a faint, eerie light emanated from within.

  Kaldor and I stood in stunned silence. “How...?” I managed to say.

  Sylas smirked, brushing her damp hands on her tunic. “Training with Lyrin,” she said, almost smugly. “He’s tougher than he looks, and he knows his stuff. And don’t judge him by his teaching method, they were extremely useful.”

  I couldn’t argue with the results. “Alright, then,” I said. “What’s the plan?”

  “Stay close,” Sylas replied, already preparing her next spell. With a wave of her hand, an earth pillar rose beneath us, lifting us to the highest floor of the building. As we hovered near a boarded-up window, she conjured a small flame in her palm, burning a hole just big enough for us to slip through. Before the fire could spread, she extinguished it with water magic.

  We climbed inside and found ourselves in a dusty attic. The room was cramped, with old wooden beams overhead and cobwebs hanging in the corners. Broken furniture and crates were piled haphazardly, and the faint scent of mildew lingered in the air.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” Kaldor muttered, his ears twitching nervously.

  “Focus,” I said, gesturing toward a narrow staircase leading downward. “Let’s move.”

  The dim light flickered from the room ahead as we crept closer. The second floor was eerily quiet, save for the muffled voices coming from behind a slightly ajar door. I strained to make out their words as we approached.

  “Damn it,” a man’s voice hissed, filled with frustration and pain. “These wounds won’t heal, no matter what I do. Not even when I transformed. They’re still there!”

  “Why were you so careless?” a second voice asked sharply, his tone dripping with disdain. “You’re supposed to be one of the stronger ones here. Now you’re relying on first aid to keep yourself together?”

  The injured man growled low, the frustration clear in his voice. “You think I wanted this? That brat knew exactly where to strike! I had to use magic just to keep the bleeding under control. These damn wounds won’t stop, and I’ve had to patch them up temporarily until they close on their own.”

  The second man snorted. “First aid and magic, and still whining. Maybe you should’ve stayed back if you couldn’t handle a group of kids.”

  The first man slammed something on a table, his voice rising. “You don’t get it! That kid’s sword—something’s off about it. It wasn’t normal. If I hadn’t dodged when I did, I’d have more than just these damn wounds.”

  “Enough,” a third voice cut in, cold and clinical, silencing the argument. “Your incompetence is irrelevant. There are more pressing matters at hand than your inability to handle a simple task.”

  There was a pause as the sound of shuffling papers and the scrape of a chair filled the air before the clinical voice continued. “Genetic manipulation is the key. With it, we’ll surpass the limits of any mortal transformation.”

  A fourth voice, deeper and more commanding, followed. “Space magic will give us control. The fire god’s fall is inevitable, and when it happens, we’ll seize the opportunity.”

  Then the fifth voice, filled with dark amusement, chuckled. “The Rising Dawn… they’re a nuisance, but one we’ll deal with soon enough. They must be exiled—or eliminated.”

  My heart pounded as their words sank in, each one carrying a weight that seemed to press down on my chest. Sylas’s sharp intake of breath beside me added to the tension, and I glanced at Kaldor, whose fur bristled in unease.

  “We need to get closer,” Sylas whispered, her voice barely audible.

  Every step we took toward that door felt heavier, the oppressive atmosphere thickening with each word spoken inside.

  As we crept toward the slightly open door, I caught sight of the figures inside, standing in front of a roaring fireplace. The shadows masked their faces, but their postures were commanding, their presence oppressive.

  Then I saw them—Mira and Kyla. They were tied to chairs, slumped forward, unconscious.

  I felt a surge of anger and fear. “Mira…” I whispered, clenching my fists.

  Kaldor’s growl rumbled low in his throat, and Sylas’s hands tightened into fists.

  “We have to—” Sylas began, but the words died in her throat as the tallest figure turned slightly, his head tilting as if he’d heard something.

  “Hide!” I hissed, pushing Sylas and Kaldor back behind a wooden beam.

  The tall figure stepped toward the door, his heavy footsteps echoing. My pulse raced as I held my breath, praying he wouldn’t come any closer.

  But when we turned to retreat, a shadow loomed in the stairwell behind us. A tall silhouette blocked the way, its presence suffocating.

  The figure stepped into the faint light, and I froze. His appearance was grotesque, like something out of a nightmare. His face was humanoid but twisted, his eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. His smile was wide and unnatural, teeth glinting as if savoring our fear.

  “Going somewhere?” he said, his voice a deep, rumbling mockery.

  We stumbled back, panic setting in. In my rush, I tripped over a loose board, and the three of us tumbled down the stairs. The landing came hard, knocking the wind out of me.

  “Duke!” Sylas called, scrambling to her feet.

  I pushed myself up, my knife slipping into my hand instinctively. But as I looked up, I felt the blood drain from my face.

  Standing at the bottom of the stairs was… me.

  He looked exactly like me, down to the faint scar on my jaw. But his expression was colder, more menacing. His eyes glinted with malice, and his grin was twisted into something inhuman.

  But unlike what I’ve heard, there are only 2 people down here and 1 upstairs. A grand total of 3, not 5.

  “What… what is this? Where are the others?” I stammered, my voice shaking.

  The doppelganger tilted his head, studying me like a predator sizing up prey. “Ah, the original,” he said, his tone mocking. “I was wondering when we’d finally meet. And there are no others… It’s just us. The voices you heard earlier are my transformation.”

  He then turned himself into a bulkier drakonian and a tall one. The only sources of light here are the moonlight illuminating through the windows, the cracks of the walls, and the small fireplace but they are not enough for me to see who exactly this person is.

  Behind him, another figure stepped into view, and my heart sank further. It was Judge Daryn, the drakonian member of the Council of Scales. His scaled skin gleamed in the moonlight, his serpentine eyes narrowing as he observed us.

  “Judge Daryn?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

  Daryn’s presence was even more imposing here than it had been during our previous encounter. He crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “You’ve come far, Duke,” he said slowly, his voice a deep rumble. “But you’ve stumbled into matters far beyond your understanding.”

  “Why is he here?” Sylas demanded, stepping forward despite the fear in her eyes. “What is all this? And why does he look like Duke?”

  The doppelganger, shifted into my form once again, chuckled darkly. “Questions, questions. You should be asking yourselves why you’re still alive.”

  I gripped my knife tighter, forcing myself to stand firm. “Enough games! Who are you? Why do you look like me?”

  The doppelganger’s grin widened, and he spread his arms theatrically. “Oh, Duke… you’re asking the wrong questions. The real one is: why were you created?”

  His words struck like a thunderclap, leaving me reeling. Created? What was he talking about?

  “Stop talking non-sense!” Sylas snapped, summoning a spark of fire in her palm.

  The doppelganger laughed, a chilling sound that made my blood run cold. “Oh, this will be fun.”

  He lunged toward me with inhuman speed. I barely managed to raise my knife in defense, the force of his strike sending me staggering back.

  “Duke!” Kaldor shouted, his claws bared as he leaped toward the doppelganger.

  But before he could reach him, Daryn raised a hand, and a wave of wind sent Kaldor crashing into the wall.

  “Stay together!” I shouted, my voice cracking. But as I tried to steady myself, the doppelganger closed the distance again, his movements impossibly fast.

  This wasn’t just a fight. This was a nightmare come to life. And the worst part? I didn’t even know who—or what—I was up against.