A brand new day had dawned. The sun rose slowly, casting its golden rays over the beauty of the mountains, touching the peaks until they glowed like fire. That same warmth slid gently down into the valley, brushing over the quiet house of Mr. Wood, bathing it in morning light.
Inside, Aron stirred awake. He blinked at the sunlight filtering through the window, rubbing his eyes before pushing himself up. With a yawn that cracked his bones and stretched his body, he swung his legs out of bed. The wooden floor creaked beneath his feet as he walked out of the room and stepped outside.
The fresh air greeted him. He lifted his head, gazing at the sky, the land stretching endlessly, painted in the gold of morning. Aron inhaled deeply, feeling the calm wash over him, then stretched his arms wide until his joints crackled again. He let out another yawn, smiling faintly at the simplicity of life in this peaceful place.
But peace did not last long.
From a distance, he spotted someone sprinting toward him. Carlos came running, his breaths heavy, sweat dripping down his forehead as if he had rushed across the entire valley just to reach him.
"Aron!" Carlos gasped, bending over to catch his breath. "I'm ready, man. Let's go to the sea. Don't worry about the land—we can take off today."
Aron gave him a small smile. "Of course. Just let me grab my stuff."
He rushed back inside, quickly packing his belongings. A few items, wrapped neatly, were stuffed into his backpack. Aron then walked toward his baby goat, crouching down to feed it gently. The animal nuzzled his hand, bleating softly, and Aron patted its head before standing up.
Soon, he returned to Carlos, ready for their little adventure.
The sky above was a perfect blue, the sunlight almost blinding in its brightness. With their bags slung over their shoulders, the boys set off, step by step, down the path toward their destination.
Carlos walked slightly ahead, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "It's a very famous spot," he explained, his voice carrying a mix of pride and secrecy. "But it's also hidden. Not many people know about it."
Aron raised an eyebrow. "Then how do you know it?"
Carlos chuckled, puffing his chest out a little. "Because of my old man. He used to tell me about it—it was his favorite spot. When I first visited it, I fell in love with it immediately."
"Maybe I'll love it too," Aron replied softly.
"I think you will," Carlos said with confidence. Then, after a short pause, he added, "So, Aron… I want to ask you. Right now, how do you feel about this place?"
Aron tilted his head back, gazing at the endless sky. He stayed quiet for a moment, then answered, "Look at the sky. I don't know—it feels similar to my kingdom. But here… it's peaceful. Really peaceful."
Carlos nodded. "Hmm. I guess that's a good answer."
The two of them continued onward, their conversation drifting from one topic to another as the journey went on.
Elsewhere
Far from the peaceful valley, the atmosphere in Wingman City was the opposite.
A courtroom buzzed with tension. The hall was filled with people—officials, citizens, guards—all gathered for a trial that had caught the attention of the city. In the center stood a man in chains, his body broken, covered in wounds. Bones jutted awkwardly beneath bruised skin, blood staining his clothes. His head hung low, barely conscious.
The judge sat high on his seat, fingers interlocked, his glasses reflecting the shafts of sunlight streaming through the tall windows. His eyes bore down on the accused.
"I will ask you one last time," the judge said, his voice stern. "Tell me… who was it?"
The man didn't answer. His body was limp, head swaying. Suddenly, a soldier beside him delivered a savage kick to his chest. The man coughed violently, blood spilling from his mouth, before jolting awake.
The soldier bent down, grabbing his neck with a vicious grip. "Who was it?" he snarled. "Tell him… or I'll kill your whole family." His lips twisted into a cruel laugh.
But before another strike could land, a hand caught the soldier's wrist mid-air. Trail stood there, his grip firm and eyes burning.
"Leave him," Trail commanded. "I'll ask the questions. And how dare you speak of killing his family—they had no part in this matter."
The soldier growled, "Stay out of this, Commander!"
Ignoring him, Trail crouched in front of the wounded man, lowering his voice. "Say it clearly—you are not guilty. Tell them. Now… tell me. Who killed Mr. Lockhead?"
The man struggled to speak. His lips trembled as he whispered, "I didn't do it. I swear. I was only passing by… and then I saw the corpse lying there. I am not guilty. I had no part in it."
The judge leaned forward. "Then how do you explain the knife found in your pocket—the very blade that stabbed him in the neck?"
"I don't know…" the man muttered. Then his eyes widened as fragments of memory returned. "Wait… there was someone. That night, I saw a man. A man with a hat. He came close to me… and then left. Yes… I saw him."
The entire room murmured.
"Is that true?" the judge asked, his tone skeptical.
Before anyone could react further, Trail stood tall. "Judge, I would like to raise a thought."
The judge nodded. "Speak, Commander Trail."
"Mr. Lockhead was killed on Merpan Street," Trail began, his voice calm yet firm. "But let's be realistic. Lockhead was a higher-up. A man of influence and strength. He could not have been killed so easily, especially not by a lowly human like this one. That night, after leaving the bar, he was drugged. His senses gone. That is the only reason he was vulnerable enough to be killed."
The courtroom buzzed with disbelief.
"And how," the judge asked, narrowing his eyes, "did you come to this conclusion? Who gave you this information?"
Trail inhaled deeply, then let out a heavy breath. "I suppose you leave me no choice. It was Luxorious. He searched it for me."
The room erupted in shock. Even the judge froze, glasses slipping slightly down his nose. The name carried weight—Luxorious was not a name to be taken lightly.
Trail continued, his voice cutting through the whispers. "There is something you don't see. A hidden organization… targeting higher-ups. They plan to destabilize the government and bring down Wingman City itself."
Gasps echoed across the chamber. "Targeting higher-ups? Madness!" someone cried.
The judge raised his hand for silence. "Like you, Commander Trail, I find this man not guilty of the crime. He will be released and allowed to return to his family." The sound of the gavel striking echoed through the hall.
The soldier who had attacked the man muttered bitterly, "Damn… I wanted this piece of trash dead."
But the accused man, tears in his eyes, whispered his thanks to Trail before being escorted out.
After the Trial
Later, Trail sat alone in his chamber. The wooden chair creaked beneath him as he leaned back, the table before him cluttered with papers, maps, and pens dripping with ink. He lit a cigarette, smoke curling upward as he stared at the ceiling, his mind heavy with thoughts.
Then, the empty seat in front of him shimmered. A black light flickered, and suddenly, Luxorious appeared, sitting calmly.
"Luxorious," Trail said without surprise, finally meeting his gaze.
"What happened to the man?" Luxorious asked, his tone cold but curious.
"He was found not guilty," Trail replied. "He's already back with his family. But this organization… it is real. They're hunting higher-ups. Yet for now, I'll wait."
Luxorious's eyes darkened. "They are tied to the darkness. That day, I could have killed them. But I let my guard down."
Trail exhaled smoke. "It's fine. Next time, kill them."
Luxorious tilted his head. "And what of the boy—the one with the black sword?"
Trail's expression hardened. "The higher-ups are deciding what to do with him. Most want him killed. They fear his power. Even you must have felt it—the strange distortions, the waves of something beyond darkness. It is not ordinary. It is something else… something ferocious. They want it ended before it grows."
Luxorious smirked faintly. "A boy who has scared the world… interesting."
"Exactly," Trail said. "That's why I want you to watch over him. Protect him."
Luxorious stood, his cloak stirring with unseen wind. "Then I will protect him. Truly." With that, he vanished into the air.
Back at the Valley
Meanwhile, Carlos led Aron through the forest. "Just across this tree, come on!" he shouted, grabbing Aron's hand. They stumbled, falling over and laughing as they hit the ground.
"Ow!" Aron winced, rubbing his head. But when he lifted his face, his breath caught.
Before him stretched a view so beautiful it felt unreal—the sea glimmering like liquid silver, birds chirping in harmony, the rhythm of waves striking the shore in perfect melody. It was untouched, pure, and natural.
Aron's eyes widened in awe.
But suddenly, the peace shattered.
A thunderclap roared above—not from the valley but far away, in the land of hell. Soldiers trembled in fear. Lyoth, seated upon his throne, stiffened as an immense pressure pressed down, a power beyond anything he had felt before. His eyes narrowed.
Something was coming. Something that even the darkness itself feared.