The palace lay in ruins. Pillars cracked, marble shattered, chandeliers scattered like broken stars across the floor. Smoke curled from the wreckage, screams and the clang of steel echoing in the distance.

  From atop a mound of rubble, a lone nobleman straightened. His form rippled, flesh twisting, until it shed its disguise.

  Dreados emerged. His hair flowed like fire in the night breeze, his cloak whipping around him with each gust. He touched the device in his ear.

  “The Elf King is here,” he muttered, voice low and edged. “This complicates things. You’ll have to deal with him yourself, Katos.”

  A voice crackled back through the line, smug and amused.

  “As if I’d ever need your help.”

  Below, the survivors stirred.

  From the broken stone, Princess Isabela struggled upright, clutching baby Zelion tight against her chest. She had shielded him with her body, taking the brunt of the collapse. Her arms trembled, but the child was safe.

  Nearby, Juval and Queen Zeliona forced their way through the debris, battered but alive.

  “Eliana!” Starla called.

  Eliana ran to them, skirts torn, dust streaking her face. “Father, Mother—are you all right?”

  “We’re fine, sweetheart,” Gozay rumbled, his voice calm despite the chaos. He brushed rubble from his broad shoulders, standing like a mountain amidst ruins.

  But Eliana’s gaze swept across the wreckage, her ears filled with the screams around them. Her chest tightened. “Oh gods… it’s just like three years ago.”

  Above them, Dreados lifted a hand to his ear once more. His tone was sharp, commanding.

  “Omfry, take the child. I’ll deal with the Elf King.”

  Gozay’s eyes flicked upward, locking onto the figure standing against the storm-lit sky.

  Dreados.

  Hair streaming in the wind, cloak snapping, his gaze sharp as a blade.

  Eliana looked up, breath catching. Her voice cracked, fury breaking free.

  “Father—it’s him! That’s the man who kidnapped Mother and me!”

  The world seemed to still.

  Gozay’s eyes narrowed, his chest rising slowly as he turned his gaze on his daughter. “Eli… are you certain it was him?”

  Her voice carried without hesitation. “Without a doubt. It was him.”

  Gozay faltered. His massive shoulders sank with the weight of something heavier than battle. He closed his eyes briefly, sighing deep, before his voice thundered low.

  “Were it any other, I would render them limb without compunction. But…” His eyes opened again, sharp with grief. “…that man is your cousin.”

  Eliana froze. Her words tumbled out in disbelief. “What? Surely… surely you jest.”

  But Gozay did not jest. His tone was solemn, edged with sorrow.

  “That man is Dreados — the son of your uncle, Dreadar, your mother’s elder brother. We had long deemed him lost, perished more than three centuries past.”

  Starla gasped, her hand rising to her mouth. Even she, who had spent five days in his captivity, had not recognised him until now.

  Eliana’s voice shook with outrage. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

  Gozay’s tone softened, but his words struck hard.“Because, we believed him lost. His village was put to the sword, its people slaughtered without mercy, and his body never recovered. I chose silence, that you might be spared the weight of such knowledge.”

  From the heights, Dreados’ laughter carried like cold steel across the broken palace. He leapt lightly from the rubble, landing with elegance, eyes burning with cruel amusement.

  “…You do not even recognise me, Starla. Five days beneath my roof, and still—nothing. I gave you meals fit for queens. I waited… each day… for the spark in your eyes to return. But no. Not even a flicker.”

  His lips curled. “What a pity.” His gaze flicked to Eliana. “I’m surprised you remember me now.”

  Starla’s voice broke, soft, almost pleading. “What happened to you, Dreados? Where have you been? Why didn’t you return?”

  Dreados’ smile was bitter. “Life, happened. I wandered. I survived. And tell me—what was there to return to? A family buried? A home burned to ash? No… I had no one. Family or not, I have a mission. Do not fear—I will not harm you. But…” His gaze slid to Gozay, sharp as a dagger. “…I will keep your king from interfering.”

  Gozay’s voice cracked with rage. “Why, Dreados? Why choose this path of ruin? Why steep your hands in blood? Is this the legacy your parents dreamed for you? To steal away your own aunt… to slaughter your own kin? Dreados… how have you fallen so far?”

  For a moment, silence. Then Dreados’ eyes hardened, his tone like iron.

  “Because… they mean nothing to me.”

  Starla staggered a step, horror etched across her face. “How… how could you say that?”

  Gozay’s fury burned hotter, his voice like thunder breaking mountains. “Do you feel nothing? Has every spark of your blood turned to ice?”

  Dreados dropped from the ruined height, landing in the dust before them. His aura pressed like a blade against the air.

  “I owe you no explanation,” he said coldly.

  And the ground trembled beneath the weight of his words.

  ---

  Dreados walked forward, each step heavy, his voice rising like a storm breaking.

  “You want me to show pity? Remorse? For you people?”

  His hand trembled, then his voice broke into a roar:

  “YOU TURNED YOUR BACK ON ME. I WAS A CHILD — HELPLESS, STARVING! YOU SAY I DIDN’T RETURN? I DID! I CRAWLED BACK ON MY HANDS AND KNEES, PROSTRATING MYSELF BEFORE YOU, BEGGING AT YOUR FEET!”

  He stopped, shoulders shaking, his words cracking under the weight of memory. His hand slid across his face, covering it as his tone dropped to a bitter rasp.

  “But what did you say to me, Gozay? Do you even remember? Of course you wouldn’t…”

  He pulled the mask away.

  His face was ruined — scar tissue gnarled and blackened across one side, his features twisted as though fire itself had branded him.

  Starla gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes, unbidden, spilling down her cheeks.

  Dreados’ lips curled into a broken smile. “Perhaps you remember this face instead.”

  His voice fell into a whisper — low, trembling, haunted.

  “I did return. After losing everything, after watching my people burn, after seeing my parents butchered before my eyes, there was nowhere left for me to go. So I walked. For two years I walked. Roads turned to deserts, winters turned my blood to ice, and still I walked. I knocked on doors… begged from house to house. But who would show pity to a filthy, half-dead stray? They cursed me. Spat on me. Some threw stones, as though I were a beast. I stole crusts of bread to survive, until one day I stole from the wrong person. She left me with this—” He touched the ruin of his face, his voice breaking into a snarl. “—this everlasting scar.”

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  His eyes lifted, blazing. “And then, by chance, I saw you, Gozay. My kin. My last hope. I ran to you. I told you who I was. I begged you to believe me. To help me. Just to give me a roof… to give me food… to give me a family again.”

  He raised his head to the sky, his words tearing from his throat like thunder.

  “What did you say to me, Gozay?!”

  Silence fell upon them.

  Gozay’s face had gone pale, his vast form still as stone. His lips parted, but no words came.

  Dreados’ eyes burned with anguish.

  “You told me I was lying. That I was nothing but a thief wearing the name of your wife's nephew. You cast me aside. And I—” His voice cracked, shattering. “I waited there in the mud for hours, thinking you’d change your mind. Thinking you’d come back. But you never did.”

  The scarred man’s chest heaved, his fists trembling as he rasped through clenched teeth.

  “The scar on my face healed into rot. But the scar here—” He struck his chest. “—never did. Not in three hundred years.”

  His voice broke into a whisper, almost pleading, almost a curse.

  “So tell me, Gozay… when you cast me away, what else was I to become? What do abandoned children grow into, if not the very monsters you fear?”

  Dreados’s voice rang cold, every word cutting like a blade.

  “Katos may be the author of my pain. But you, Gozay… you are the judge of my despair.”

  He slid the mask back over his scarred face, shadows swallowing the faint glimpse of his ruined features. His tone sharpened, final.

  “So no… you are not my people.”

  Starla’s lips parted, but no words came. Even Gozay, titan of the elves, stood silent beneath the weight of the accusation. Then his lips parted.

  “I judged you wrongly then, I will not do so now—by mercy or by steel, I will answer you.”

  Dreados replied coldly.“Pity is a coin you never spent on me—do not press it into my palm now.”

  Dreados’s eyes burned behind the mask.

  “Well, it matters little. The past cannot be unbroken. And you…” His gaze hardened on Gozay. “…you are nothing more than my aunt’s husband. I owe you nothing. Once I am finished here, I will strike down the one who slaughtered my family. That is the only blood I seek.”

  His hands ignited, glowing red, sparks crackling up his arms. His voice swelled with conviction:

  “I am Dreados of the Black March.”

  He touched the device in his ear. “Omfry.”

  Up upon the ruined palace walls, Omfry crouched at the edge, the wind tugging at his cloak. His grin stretched as he replied, voice laced with mockery.

  “Yes, yes… I heard your little sob story. Touching, really. Explains why you’ve been so protective of that queen and her precious daughter. But you truly have no idea how much I held back, Dreados.”

  He rose, stretching, and inhaled deeply as though savoring the chaos. His eyes gleamed.

  “Ok, ok. I’ll go get the little prince now.”

  ---

  Among the rubble, Isabela staggered upright, cradling Zelion tightly in her arms. Dust streaked her gown, but the child remained untouched, his small hands gripping her collar. Mercy ran to her side, panic in her eyes.

  “Come on—we need to move!” Isabela hissed.

  They leapt across shattered marble and broken pillars. Isabela’s breath came fast. “Can’t you cast a search spell? Something to find my parents?”

  Mercy shook her head, her voice sharp. “I’m an enchanter, not a caster. I can weave inscriptions, not sniff out people!”

  “Then we run,” Isabela snapped. “We must find them!”

  Behind them, Omfry closed his eyes. Sentinel Bravo unfolded like an endless map across the ruin. A hundred kilometers of life and mana signatures flared in his mind—until he found it. The faint pulse of a baby, carried swiftly through the rubble.

  “There you are…” Omfry muttered. His grin widened.

  ---

  Elsewhere, Jeriana downed another flask of shimmering blue, mana flooding back into her veins. Sweat poured down her temples as she continued her incantation.

  Closer still, the clamor of approaching guards echoed through the broken city streets. Omfry plucked a fallen curtain from the rubble, humming under his breath.

  And then—

  BOOM.

  He vanished, reappearing in an instant at Mach 18, the curtain now bulging like a sack slung over his shoulder. He set it down. From within spilled a grotesque weight. Dozens upon dozens of hearts thudded wetly onto the stones, each one marked by twin punctures. The hearts still pulsed, struggling against air that could no longer sustain them.

  The guards who had charged seconds earlier collapsed in unison, lifeless, their chests blown open. The air stank of blood.

  Omfry exhaled, almost playfully. “Now then… let’s see where you’re running, little Aurellian.”

  ---

  Meanwhile,

  Bifo, the Hysor, loomed before Eryndor. His vast blue wings stretched wide, the feathers bristling like blades, his arms swelling with unnatural power. Purple veins gleamed like metal under his skin, each movement punctuated by the metallic clang of reinforced muscle.

  “You’re not even bleeding,” Bifo sneered. “What are you? Your mana circulation has been blocked. You should be as weak as a normal person.”

  Eryndor’s eyes glowed faintly. His voice was low, dangerous.

  “You… did this?”

  Bifo laughed. “Of course I did! Let’s skip the boring part where you rage, and jump straight to me beating your ass.”

  Eryndor’s jaw tightened. “You think so little of life. All those you slaughtered—”

  “Collateral damage,” Bifo snapped. “It’s war. People die. Stop pretending it matters. Now, here’s your choice: come quietly, or I kill you.”

  “You, my adversary” Eryndor said coldly, “have chosen your opponent poorly.”

  ---

  To Be Continued...