The sky still throbbed with thunder when Ziraiah’s voice cracked, raw with anger.

  “He hurt David!”

  Eryndor’s gaze never faltered. His tone was calm, but heavy as stone.

  “I am aware.”

  Her eyes widened; she recoiled a step in the air.

  “You knew? And you didn’t tell me?”

  “The mere fact that you are embroiled in combat at this very moment should suffice as explanation for my silence,” Eryndor replied. His words were cool, but sharp enough to cut.

  Below them, Valerius’ battered body fell like a comet. Part of his face was charred, his shirt burned away to ash. Red burns stretched across his chest.

  BOOOOM.

  He crashed into the street below, the ground cratering beneath his feet. Citizens screamed, scattering in chaos.

  “Was that a mage?!” one cried.

  “No—no, an Augmenter!” shouted another.

  But before their eyes could linger, Valerius vanished in a blur.

  “He disappeared! What in the heavens is happening to Heful?”

  From his yard, Pungence had already walked back inside, his expression unbothered.

  Andrea met him at the doorway, her voice sharp. “You didn’t stop them. Why?”

  Pungence lit another cigarette, smoke curling in the dim light.

  “I would have,” he said, exhaling slowly. “But I didn’t need to.”

  ---

  Far from the chaos, in a hidden chamber lit by cold lanterns, the enemy convened.

  A wide table was strewn with blueprints of Heful’s royal castle… and of Pungence’s own house.

  Dreados stood over them, arms folded, his eyes narrowing. “There’s another Bravo user in this city. Strong. Very strong. And apart from him, two other mages of considerable power.”

  Omfry stepped forward, his presence heavy. His sentinel blanketing a hundred kilometers like a second skin.

  “I thought Pungence was the only Bravo user here.” His eyes sharpened. “This one might give you a run for your money, Dreados.”

  At the far end, Magmelar bent over a workbench, delicate instruments flashing as he carved into runed metal. Sparks hissed.

  Katos leaned closer, impatient. “How long until those artifacts are ready?”

  Magmelar didn’t look up. “These are dangerous. Complex. I’ve never used them before… it will take days.”

  “Then hurry it up,” Katos snapped. “The ball is coming, and I don’t like breathing the same air as Pungence.” He turned to Dreados, eyes narrowed. “Are you certain this plan will work? Because if it doesn’t… we’re finished. Zitry may have one of the weakest militaries on paper, but still no one dares attack it. And we both know why.”

  Mibutu shifted uneasily. “Taking on Pungence… we’re in far over our heads.”

  Sandra’s voice was flat, resigned. “It isn’t as though we have a choice. Once a Kottor’s hand is around your throat… there’s no pulling free.”

  On the table lay five photographs: Valerius, Eryndor, Ziraiah, Zelion, and Pungence.

  Bifo picked up the image of Zelion, tilting it toward the light. “Why this child? What makes him so important?”

  Dreados answered without hesitation. “That child awakened at one year old. Barely two weeks ago.”

  He lifted Eryndor’s photo next, his eyes narrowing. “And according to our intelligence, the boy absorbed this one’s mana during the awakening.”

  Dael let out a low whistle. “A baby that devours mana? Now that’s a child worth stealing. Even I’d want a kid like that.”

  Jeriana stepped forward, laying out three objectives with deliberate clarity. She tapped the pictures as she spoke:

  “There are three things we must secure. First: Prince Zelion. Second: the barrier’s power source. And third…” She held up Valerius’ photograph, her lips curling. “…him.”

  Her eyes hardened. “Who would’ve thought I’d see this one again? He should be dead. There’s no way he let him go.”

  Katos frowned. “Who?”

  Omfry’s jaw tightened. “Someone came after us once… at Beniek Ruin. He was after them.”

  He pointed at the photos of Eryndor and Ziraiah. “We escaped with these two alive.”

  Then his finger tapped Valerius’ image, lingering. “But this one? There was no saving him. He was finished. Or so we thought.”

  Recognition flickered across Katos’s face. “I remember now. They were the Elvheins who opened the ruin. Rarebreeds. No wonder they’re under Pungence’s roof—it’s not every day you see such bloodlines.”

  Bifo frowned, flipping Valerius’ photo. “But isn’t this the one they warned us about? The one marked as… difficult to capture?”

  Dreados held the photo between two fingers, his expression dismissive. “Yes. But why? He’s no threat to us.”

  Bifo didn’t look convinced. “If he wasn’t, they wouldn’t have ordered both you and Omfry to take him down together.”

  The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down.

  And on the table, the five faces stared back at them — the Delindors, the prince, and Pungence — the storm yet to come.

  ---

  Daiel leaned forward, a slow grin spreading across his face as he tapped the table for emphasis.

  “You know, Dreados, he’s right. They gave a pretty good plan. Since the power houses of our team can't physically take on Pungence, you'll capture this kid instead. While us mages and seed users focus on trapping Pungence and taking that kid Zelion.”

  Jeriana folded her arms, eyes colder than the lantern light. She pushed back from the table and let the room watch her for a long beat. “We’re about to strike at Pungence’s home. Do we understand what that means? Even if we pull this off, he won’t simply forgive it. He will hunt us. He will make the whole of Yilheim a graveyard for us.”

  Silence crowded the chamber like a tide. Mibotu’s fingers drummed a nervous tattoo. Katos’ jaw clenched. Even Omfry’s broad shoulders tightened at the thought.

  Dreados rose. He did not speak at first; he merely let the sound of his movement fill the room. When his voice came, it was slow — a polished blade sliding free of its sheath. Each word landed like a calculated cut.

  “You have all lived in fear of Pungence,” he began, voice low, deliberate. “You have watched the world bend its stride to his footfall. We have been taught caution. We have been taught fear. We have seen that no man can stand against Pungence. But even so. Would you not want to recognised... as the ones who stood against Pungence...and won?”

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  He turned his gaze across the faces, letting the weight of history sit on each of them. “what no one remembers… is that the map of legend is written in those who dared. Names are not made by living in the dark and whispering. Names are made by choosing to step into light — even when that light burns. The Kottors made a name for themselves, by taking on the Enforcers...and lived. Yes our mission is absurdly dangerous. Yes we might very well loose our lives here. But what if we do succeed.”

  A pause. The room leaned in.

  “Imagine this,” Dreados continued, voice barely louder. “Imagine our faces carved into the mouths of taverns all over the world. Imagine wanted posters flapping on every wind. Imagine every mercenary, every thief, every enforcer knowing our names and their price. Imagine V3 — the next elixir, the new power — slipped into our veins; imagine fortunes, influence, armies answering to our call, wanting to be a part of us.”

  Jeriana’s eyes flashed. “You’d trade infamy for bounty? Become hunted for spoils?”

  Dreados smiled — not kindly, not cruelly, only with the cold arithmetic of a man who has measured odds. “Not traded, Jeriana. Earned. There are things wealth cannot buy: the right to be feared, the right to demand and be answered, the right to be called a Kottor. Throughout history... there has been only one man who stood against Pungence. Though he lost, his name was etched into history... as the only man to ever scar Pungence.”

  He stepped closer, voice dropping to an intimate rasp that made even the bravest of the circle shift. “Yes — Pungence will be our enemy. The whole of his name will lie against ours like an avalanche. He will come at us hard. However... we have Kottors on our side.”

  His hand tapped the table once. The sound cut the air.

  “Listen to this — if we succeed, we will not merely survive his hatred. We will be written into the ledger of the world. We will carry a legacy that no yesterday can bury. Our bounties will not trickle; they will explode. The gates that were closed will open. V3, influence, titles — Kottor — all of it mapped to our names.”

  He let the last word hang like a verdict.

  “You will be infamous,” he finished, slow and sure. “You will be hunted. You will be feared. You will be rich beyond the dreams of our mothers. You will be the first to take a prize no man thought possible. You will be remembered.”

  There was a long, brittle silence.

  Jeriana cracked her knuckles. Bifo’s lip curled in a thoughtful snarl. Magmelar’s hands clenched; even Daiel’s grin had sharpened into something almost ravenous.

  Dreados’ voice, softer now, almost kind, settled over them like a benediction and a threat both.

  “Decide,” he said. “Will you be the ones who hide in the dark, or the ones who carve their names across the sky?”

  Ziraiah stormed into the Heful Royal Hospital, her silver aura flickering faintly around her from the flight. The reception hall quieted as she entered, eyes turning toward the tall Elvhein girl.

  She strode straight to the front desk.

  “I’m looking for David Targreen. Where is he?”

  The nurse behind the desk blinked, startled by her presence, then composed herself.

  “Are you family, miss?”

  Ziraiah leaned forward. “I asked where he is.”

  The nurse hesitated, her tone professional but firm.

  “I’m sorry. For patient privacy, we can only disclose room information to immediate family or those the family has approved. If you’re not listed, I can’t allow you in.”

  Ziraiah’s jaw clenched. “I am listed. I’m his—” she cut herself off, biting the words back. Her chest burned. She hated being treated like an outsider.

  The nurse offered a gentle but unmoved smile.

  “If you’re not family, I’ll need to check with them before letting you through. Please wait here.”

  Ziraiah slammed her hand against the counter. The wood groaned.

  “I don’t have time to wait.”

  The sound drew the attention of a pair of guards stationed by the corridor. They straightened, watching her carefully.

  The nurse’s voice sharpened.

  “Miss, if you don’t calm yourself, I’ll have to ask security to escort you out. I understand you may care for the patient, but these are the rules. His family has not authorized visitors.”

  Ziraiah stared at the woman for a few seconds, then a field erupted from her, sweeping across the entire hospital. She felt David’s presence immediately.

  The nurse glanced down at her tablet, and when she looked up—Ziraiah was gone. She looked left, then right, but there was no sign of her.

  Beside David’s bed, Ziraiah knelt and gently took his hand.

  Her voice broke into a whisper.

  “I’m so sorry… for having a brother like that.”

  David lay unconscious. A cast braced his neck, both his arms and legs were wrapped and elevated, his body a fragile frame of plaster and bandages.

  High above, Valerius sat on the roof of Pungence’s house, listening. With his enhanced hearing, every word reached him, sinking like knives.

  Eliana walked up quietly and lowered herself beside him.

  “Are you okay?”

  Valerius didn’t answer. He only looked at her for a moment, then turned his gaze forward again.

  Eliana exhaled slowly.

  “Right. You’re not.”

  She drew in a breath and said softly,

  “You know, I wish I had a brother or sister like you do. It’s hard for elves to reproduce. My parents tried for over three centuries before they had me… I guess that’s the price of having the longest lifespan.”

  Valerius muttered, jaw tight,

  “She’s never fought me like this before. All because of that bastard.”

  Eliana tilted her head toward him.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  To Be Continued...