The wagon sped down the winding trail, its wheels rattling against the uneven earth as branches clawed past on either side. Loose blankets, cooking pans, and one of Ria's dolls were flung from the back—lost in the rush.
Renille held onto Ria's small body, praying she wouldn't fly off.
They crested a low hill, and the trees thinned just enough to reveal what lay ahead.
A small outpost—ravaged.
Tents were slashed open like gutted bellies, crates overturned, belongings scattered and trampled underfoot. The smell of ash lingered. There were no bodies, but clear signs of a hasty retreat: firepits still warm, half-packed satchels left behind.
Renille's voice was barely above a whisper. "Mother... what happened here?"
Anlene's brow furrowed. "We should head another way."
Rod tightened his grip on the reins. "No. Father is still back there. He could be hurt. We should go back him up!"
Anlene shook her head sharply. "No, Rod. You'll only get in your father's way."
Her words landed heavy. Then she faltered, her breath catching.
"Mother?" Renille reached out just as Anlene swayed, her knees giving out.
"I—can't... hold up... much longer..." Anlene murmured, before collapsing and the shield on their wagon disappearing her mana completely drained.
"Mother!!" Renille cried, catching her just in time and lowering her to the wagon floor.
The sun dipped below the tree line, dragging shadows like long claws across the forest. The fire Renille lit crackled softly in the quiet, its warmth chasing back the creeping chill of the woods.
Ria gently dabbed a warm cloth over their mother's forehead. "Will Mother be okay"
Rin, his brow furrowed in concentration, knelt by the rear wheel, tools scattered around him. "Big sis I managed to fix the axel of the wagon."
"Thank you Rin have something to drink first." Renille handed him some brewed juice for recovery.
"Rod we have to take turns watching mother until father comes back." Renille stirred the sole pot that didn't flew out from the wagon's hasty retreat.
Rod paced like a caged wolf, scanning the dark trees beyond the camp, sword ever at his side. His armor was dented, scuffed. His jaw tight.
"We have to go back for Father," he muttered.
Renille didn't look up. "We can't move, big brother. Not with Mother in this condition."
"We can't stay here either."
Renille shot him a glare, her patience snapping. "Then what do you suggest we do?"
Before Rod could answer, a sudden gust of wind swept over them—a low whoosh that made the fire sputter and die for a moment.
They froze.
Above, cutting through the starlight, came massive wings. A dragon descended from the clouds like a phantom. Atop it—the masked man from before.
He dismounted with the ease of a predator, his movements smooth, almost lazy. Ash-blonde hair caught the firelight like embers. Eyes like rubies glowed beneath the carved mask. His cloak billowed behind him like shadowed flame.
Rod assumed a fighting stance instantly, drawing his blade. "Stay back!"
The dragon snarled at the weapon pointed at its master.
The masked man cocked his head. "Who are you?"
Rod's grip tightened. "Who are you?!"
"Put that down." His voice was deep and dismissive. With one lazy lift of his finger, the man disarmed Rod—a flick of raw magic that sent the sword flying. Rod stumbled, crashing to the ground.
"Big brother!" Renille shouted.
Panicking, Rod did the only thing he could—he threw a fistful of dirt, just like his father had taught him. It hit the man's mask and chest, drawing a scoff.
Rod scrambled to retrieve his sword—but the dragon reacted before he could. Seeing its master attacked, the beast's tail swept forward—a brutal, crushing strike aimed at Rod.
"No!" Renille screamed, instinctively casting a barrier between them . It erupted in a split second, shimmering blue with her crest. The tail hit the shield mid-swing—CRACK—and the dragon recoiled, letting out a furious, shrieking roar.
The masked man's red eyes snapped toward Renille. Something cold and terrible passed through them.
A look that said, How dare you?
Renille felt her blood turn to ice.
But she squared her shoulders anyway, ready to cast again—even if it drained her completely. She might need to improvise a teleportation spell and get them all out.
Suddenly—another dragon rider swooped in landing between them. Smaller. Quicker. His voice rang out like a bell. "Your Grace, wait!"
His hair was golden, like sunlight caught in motion. His eyes a deep, stormy gray.
"They may not be with the caravan from earlier, Your Grace," he called to the ash-blonde rider.
A third voice called from behind.
"Captain!"
Renille turned at the sound of a familiar voice.
"Father!" Ria and Rin cried, throwing themselves into Reyn's battered arms.
Reyn stumbled forward, bloodied and bruised but still standing. Arms wrapped tightly around both twins. His eyes, though weary, still burned with the sharpness of a seasoned knight.
He turned to the golden-haired rider, who had dismounted and stood beside his dragon. The firelight gleamed off his polished armor.
"Captain Soren," Reyn said, addressing him with quiet deference, though the man was clearly two decades his junior. "This is my family. I sent them ahead when the chaos began."
The golden rider paused, assessing the group with a soldier's eye before removing his mask with a fluid motion. His face was striking—clean, youthful, yet carrying the weight of command.
"Vice-Captain Reyn," he said crisply, "so this is your family. I'm glad we found them."
He turned briefly toward the silent rider of the larger dragon.
"Your Grace," he added, "this is the new Vice-Captain and his family. He's accepted the new post with the Borderland Knights. We had planned to—"
But he could not finish his sentence because the ash-blonde rider—Malrick—mounted his dragon without a word. He shifted slightly in the saddle, glancing once toward Renille.
Renille's stomach turned. Your Grace?
Her thoughts raced. If Soren—a Captain of the Imperial Knights of the Borderlands —was addressing that man with such reverence, there was only one explanation.
That man is the Lord of the Borderlands... Malrick Lakanpili of the Lakanpili Clan.
Her pulse quickened. She glanced at Rod, still pointing his sword at Malrick. Rod... her brother... who had just thrown dirt at the most feared tyrant in the Empire.
She looked back at His Grace the Duke of the Borderlands. He however without a word tugged on the dragon's reins and turned away, his cloak snapping in the wind.
As he passed, the dragon gave a sharp flick of its tail and blew small streak of fire.
It missed Renille by mere inches, striking the nearby abandoned wagons—still loaded with opened cages and metal chains.
She stood her ground, unmoving, but the heat kissed her cheek.
It hadn't been aimed at her.
But it could have been.
It almost was.
The dragon flapped its wings, taking flight into the night sky with a deafening gust. Dust and embers swirled in its wake.
Renille looked up, eyes fixed on the fading silhouette.
That no-good fiend... he did that on purpose, she thought grimly.
Malrick didn't even glance back.
A silence settled over the camp—tense, smoldering.
Then, finally—
"Goodness. Could he be any more dramatic?" Captain Soren muttered, adjusting his gloves as if Malrick had merely thrown a tantrum rather than ravage an entire camp.
"Anlene, my love!" Reyn suddenly exclaimed, eyes widening in belated realization that his wife was unconscious. "Why are you in such a state?!"
He rushed to her side. The twins were still clinging to either of his feet, wide-eyed and tear-streaked.
Nearby, Renille muttered dryly, "You're one to talk... look at you." She gestured to his bloodied, bruised form.
Anlene's eyelids fluttered open. She blinked, groggy and pale. "My love... you're covered in bruises."
Reyn gave a sheepish grin, just relieved she was awake.
Rod stepped forward, bowing his head with all the solemnity he could muster. "Father... it's my fault. I failed to protect Mother and my younger siblings. I—I drew my sword without thinking. I'll accept any punishment."
Renille tugged her older brother's ear sharply, as if she was the older sibling. "Big brother, I told you to think before you strike."
Meanwhile, their parents had drifted into a world of their own—cooing and embracing like newlyweds, despite the dirt and blood smeared across their faces—and completely unaware of the entire squad of Imperial Knights gawking at them.
Captain Soren arched a brow, arms crossed. "My, my. What a lively Vice-Captain we've inherited," he said with a chuckle. "I suppose the Borderlands won't be dull after all. We should probably head back to Thornmere Keep."