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Seven years had passed since Isaac Steelheart first set foot inside the royal barracks of Verdalis.
What once stood as a quiet kingdom of trade and spirit farmers had grown into the beating heart of the western continent. Silver towers rose beside vast training fields, and the wind carried the sound of iron striking iron — the rhythm of a nation reborn through strength.
They called him the Silver Fang.
At dawn, golden sunlight spilled across the training yard, catching on the edges of dozens of blades. Rows of young recruits shouted in unison as their captain paced before them — a tall figure in silver armor, every step calm and deliberate.
"Focus your spirit flow through your stance," Isaac said, his voice firm but patient. "Your weapon moves with your breath — not before it."
The recruits adjusted instantly. None dared slack under the man who had once led ten men against an army of a hundred — and won.
The White Tiger General, as the soldiers called him, was no longer the shy village boy who once feared holding a dagger. His aura was steady, precise, and warm. Lightning traces shimmered faintly around him, each pulse echoing the heartbeat of his White Tiger Spirit — a guardian that now stood proudly behind him, translucent and fierce.
"Good. Dismissed," he said at last.
The soldiers saluted in perfect harmony. Isaac's gaze softened as they scattered; he'd built this legion from nothing, shaping them as his master once shaped him.
---
The Return of the Silver Wing
The morning calm was broken by a flash of white light from above. A sleek shadow descended, stirring dust as it landed — Vaela, her silver hair glinting beneath her scout's hood. The faint shimmer of her Crane Spirit danced behind her, ethereal and graceful.
"You're up early, General Silver Fang," she teased, folding her arms. "I thought war heroes slept till noon."
Isaac smiled faintly. "And let my soldiers out-train me? I'd never hear the end of it."
Vaela laughed softly, the kind of laughter that could shake away fatigue. Seven years had turned her into one of Verdalis's finest scouts — the Captain of the Silver Wing Division. The Crane Spirit had blessed her with speed and vision beyond compare; her arrival always came with the whisper of wind and the scent of sky.
She tossed him a small sealed scroll. "Border patrol report. Quiet for now — but something feels off near the east ridge. Spirit energy's… unstable."
Isaac's eyes narrowed. "I'll inform the prince. We can't ignore anomalies near the ridge."
Vaela tilted her head. "You always take everything so seriously."
"That's what generals do," he said, half-smiling. "And someone has to keep you from charging into the sky uninvited."
They shared a glance — the kind born of years of battle and friendship. Neither spoke of the near-death that first bound them together, but the warmth remained.
---
The Princess Without a Spirit
Far from the barracks, the royal gardens bloomed under a curtain of soft sunlight.
Princess Diya sat by the fountain, her hand trailing in the water. No spirit hovered behind her. No aura surrounded her. Yet, within her eyes burned something stronger — determination.
Seven years had taught her how to stand tall without wings or fangs.
She worked among the healers now, tending to soldiers wounded from patrols and villagers injured in border raids. Her room was filled with medical scrolls, herbs, and gentle laughter — a stark contrast to the steel halls of the barracks.
Still, sometimes her gaze drifted to the window — to the distant training grounds where the Silver Fang was said to train his men. The man who had once shielded her with his own life.
Her brother, Prince Ravender, entered quietly, dressed in a simple tunic instead of royal armor. "You're lost in thought again," he said, sitting beside her.
"I was remembering that day," she murmured. "The day he saved me. The white light… the blood…"
Ravender sighed. "He's no longer the boy from that day. Isaac is Verdalis's strongest general now. But don't worry — he serves with honor."
"I know," she said, smiling faintly. "That's what scares me."
---
The Pride of Verdalis
Later that evening, the great hall of the Verdalis fortress was alive with sound — armor clinking, maps unfurled, officers murmuring around a vast round table. Isaac stood beside Prince Ravender, his silver armor glowing under the firelight.
"Our northern borders report strange energy," said a messenger. "Possible corrupted spirits, but no sightings yet."
Ravender's jaw tightened. "We'll double the watch. Isaac — take charge of the northern outpost until we confirm the threat."
"As you command, Your Highness."
When the meeting dispersed, Ravender clapped Isaac's shoulder. "You've grown stronger than I ever imagined. My father still calls you the heart of Verdalis."
Isaac bowed slightly. "I only followed your example, my prince."
"Then follow me one step further," Ravender said, smiling. "Next council, I want you seated beside me — not behind."
Isaac blinked, then smiled faintly. "You're serious."
"Of course I am. The right hand of the crown should not hide in the shadows."
---
A Night of Oaths
The moon rose high over Verdalis, its silver light painting the city rooftops in pale glow.
From the balcony of the northern bastion, Isaac watched the horizon — the same fields he once played in as a child. The White Tiger Spirit stood beside him, its ethereal form flickering like mist.
"So much has changed…" he murmured.
He remembered his father's voice.
"A spirit is not power, my son. It's responsibility."
Isaac exhaled deeply, letting the night wind brush through his hair. "Father… I think I finally understand."
Behind him, Vaela's voice carried through the quiet. "Hey, Silver Fang. You're still awake?"
Isaac turned, smiling. "Can't sleep when the stars are this bright."
She joined him, leaning on the railing. "Seven years, huh? Who would've thought the boy who once tripped over a training spear would become Verdalis's pride?"
Isaac chuckled. "And who would've thought the girl who used to sneak sweets into the academy would become the sky's messenger?"
They stood together in silence, the bond between them unspoken but powerful — the kind that could outlast battles, time, even fate itself.
Finally, Isaac looked toward the city lights. "Whatever happens next, Vaela… I'll protect this kingdom. And everyone in it."
Vaela smiled softly. "I know you will, Silver Fang."
As the night deepened, the wind carried the faint echo of a roar — the spirit of the White Tiger calling across the stars.
The Silver Fang of Verdalis stood ready.
And though peace blanketed the land… the storm was already stirring beyond the horizon.
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