The Manticore and the werewolf collided in midair with a violent crash that shook the surrounding branches.
The werewolf had lunged, desperately aiming for the Manticore's throat, but the winged creature was faster. It twisted in flight, its claws tracing deadly arcs through the air.
The werewolf caught one of the Manticore's forelegs in its jaws and yanked brutally, trying to unbalance it.
The Manticore roared in pain and rage. It whipped its tail like a lash, the venomous barbs at its tip aiming for the werewolf's head.
SWISH.
The werewolf released its grip just in time, dodging the barbs by mere inches. But it was losing altitude.
Fighting in the air was definitely not its strength.
It landed heavily on the ground, its paws absorbing the impact. Barely had it touched down when the Manticore was on it.
The creature dove like a hawk, claws outstretched.
The werewolf rolled to the side, but the Manticore's claws raked deeply into its flank. Blood splattered the ground.
"Graaah!"
The werewolf retaliated instantly with a swift claw swipe, aiming for the Manticore's shoulders.
But the creature's thick fur acted like natural armor. The claws slid off without penetrating deeply.
The Manticore, meanwhile, showed barely any visible wounds. A few superficial scratches, nothing more.
The werewolf realized it was at a disadvantage.
It couldn't let its guard down for a second. The Manticore was aggressive, brutal, leaving no respite in their exchanges.
The creature followed with a chaotic diagonal leap, shifting angles mid-motion. The werewolf dodged, but the Manticore's tail struck like a hook, aiming for its legs.
The werewolf jumped to avoid it, but the move was imprecise. It lost its balance for a fraction of a second.
The Manticore seized the moment, launching a rapid, erratic series of slashing strikes with its forepaws.
Left. Right. Diagonal. Low.
Impossible to fully anticipate.
The werewolf blocked what it could, but several strikes breached its guard. Gashes opened across its chest and arms.
More blood flowed.
Their clash tore up the earth. Tufts of torn fur littered the ground and floated in the air like macabre snow. The roars of both beasts echoed through the forest.
At a safe distance, the royal guards watched the spectacle.
"Not every day you get to see a fight this intense," Bertrand muttered, clutching his broken ribs.
"Look at him," another guard said, pointing at the werewolf. "He's literally covered in blood. He's getting torn apart."
"No kidding, he's more beat up than anyone here," a third added.
Cedric, still supported by Claude, watched as well. His face was grim.
"The assassins have all fled," he murmured. "Their mission's a failure."
"Thanks to that kid," Claude said, glancing at the pile of creatures where Cassian remained. "Whoever he is."
The werewolf was at its limit.
Every breath was painful. Every movement sent jolts of agony through its battered body.
Reason slowly returned, cutting through the fog of rage and frustration.
The mission… is a failure. The others are gone. The king is protected. I can't win.
It had to escape. Now.
The Manticore charged again, claws raised.
The werewolf feinted a frontal attack, forcing the Manticore to adjust its guard.
Then it spun sharply and bolted in the opposite direction, summoning its last reserves of strength.
Its paws pounded the ground, propelling it through the dense forest.
But the Manticore wouldn't let it go so easily.
The creature spread its massive wings and took off, flying swiftly between the trees, its eyes locked on its fleeing prey.
The chase continued, deeper and deeper into the forest.
Until both creatures vanished completely from sight.
---
Two Weeks Later
Patrice, the butler, was a man in his fifties, lean and impeccably dressed. His gray hair was slicked back without a single strand out of place, and his round glasses reflected the light of the chandeliers illuminating the royal palace's corridors.
He walked with measured steps, his polished shoes clacking softly on the marble floor.
At his side, Ingrid struggled to keep up.
She was a beautiful young woman in her twenties, with long chestnut hair tied in a ponytail and sparkling green eyes full of curiosity. She wore the standard palace maid uniform: a simple black dress with a pristine white apron.
"…and that is why," Patrice continued in a monotone voice, "all the previous maids assigned to young master Cassian quit after a few days."
Ingrid blinked. "All of them?"
"All of them," Patrice confirmed. "At first, many were assigned to him. Now, after just two weeks, none remain."
He stopped before a large window overlooking a magnificent garden and turned to Ingrid.
"It is not the palace's custom to hire commoners," he said with a hint of disapproval. "But the urgency of the situation demanded it."
His eyes studied Ingrid over his glasses.
"I have high expectations of you, Miss Ingrid."
The hiring test wasn't even that hard, Ingrid thought with relief. Good thing I seized this chance to make some money.
"I'll do my best, Mr. Patrice," she replied humbly, bowing slightly.
But her eyes couldn't help lingering on the corridor's lavish decorations. Golden tapestries, intricately carved porcelain vases, solid silver candelabras…
I still can't believe I'm working in the royal palace!
"We are currently in a wing separate from the rest of the palace," Patrice explained, resuming his walk. "The Wing of Honor. Once abandoned, it has been specially renovated for young master Cassian."
He gestured vaguely.
"However, it will take some time before everything is fully furnished and restored. Some sections remain… rustic."
"The Wing of Honor," Ingrid repeated, impressed.
"It is an honor to serve Cassian," Patrice said, pride evident in his voice. "The savior of the king."
They passed another window, and Patrice stopped abruptly.
"Ah."
He looked out, brows furrowing.
Below stretched a colossal park, enclosed by high stone walls. There were miniature forests, rivers winding through perfectly manicured lawns, and several elegant pavilions scattered about.
But what caught Patrice's attention was the scale of the changes.
"The garden has… significantly expanded since my last visit," he murmured. "Just three days ago, this space was half its size."
He shook his head, his expression a mix of admiration and concern.
"Young master Cassian's powers are indeed immense."
Ingrid leaned to look out the window.
And she saw him.
A small boy with blond hair floated above a river, arms crossed, staring at something in the water. His long braid hung down his back, secured by three golden rings that gleamed in the sunlight.
Ingrid blinked.
The previous maids exaggerated, she thought with a wry smile. Why run away because of a kid?
She had experience with children. Back home, she'd tamed her rambunctious little brother just fine.
Even if Cassian has great powers, in the end, I'll come out on top!
She suppressed a proud grin.
This job will be easier than I thought.
Cassian, below, suddenly turned his head toward the window.
He'd noticed the silhouettes.
Oh? The butler's back. And he brought someone.
Without hesitation, he activated the magical ring on his finger. His body rose into the air, and he flew gracefully to the window.
Patrice and Ingrid flinched slightly as the boy appeared before them, floating calmly at eye level on the other side of the glass.
Cassian waved, then flew to the nearest balcony and entered the wing through an open glass door.
Moments later, he appeared at the end of the corridor, gliding toward them with a radiant smile.
No, not gliding. Floating a few inches off the floor.
"Young master," Patrice said, bowing slightly. "Allow me to introduce your new maid."
He gestured to Ingrid.
"This is Miss Ingrid. She will be in your service starting today."
Ingrid gave an awkward curtsy, unsure of the exact protocol.
"Pleased to meet you, young master. I'm Ingrid."
Cassian floated around her in a circle, inspecting her with curiosity.
His turquoise eyes scanned her up and down, studying every detail.
"Hmm," he said simply.
Then his smile widened.
"Wanna play?"
Ingrid blinked, caught off guard by the direct question.
"Uh… I—"
"Young master," Patrice interjected firmly. "I haven't finished explaining Miss Ingrid's responsibilities to her."
Cassian pouted, his cheeks puffing out in an adorably sulky expression.
"Fine, fine," he sighed.
He floated backward, did a half-spin in the air, and zoomed back toward the garden through the corridor.
"See you later, Ingrid!" he called cheerfully before vanishing around a corner.
Patrice waited until Cassian was out of sight before motioning for Ingrid to follow.
"Come. I'll show you the various rooms."
For the next half-hour, Patrice guided Ingrid through the Wing of Honor.
He showed her the spacious kitchen, the elegant dining room, the cozy lounge with its comfortable armchairs, the library filled with ancient books, and several empty guest rooms.
"As you are currently the only maid," Patrice explained, "focus only on the tasks necessary for smooth operations. Don't overwork yourself."
He pulled several neatly folded documents from his suit and handed them to Ingrid.
"Everything is detailed here. The young master's meal schedule, his food preferences, the palace areas he's permitted to access, security protocols…"
He tapped the papers.
"If you have questions, don't worry. I've taken the trouble to explain everything in these documents."
He gave her one last look over his glasses.
"I wish you good work. Or rather… good luck."
With that, he turned and walked away down the corridor, his footsteps echoing until they faded completely.
Ingrid stood alone in the grand, silent hallway.
She let out a sigh of relief, her shoulders relaxing.
Finally alone.
She glanced at the documents in her hands, then around her.
Time to pick a room and get ready for the day.
She started walking down the corridor, her eyes scanning the many closed doors.
The palace is so huge, and there are so many empty rooms waiting for me!
The thought of a big, plush bed put her in a great mood. She almost skipped, a smile on her lips.
Then she turned a corner.
And froze.
Cassian was there, standing (well, floating) right in front of her, arms crossed, a mischievous grin on his beautiful face.
"You're free now, huh?" he said in his melodious voice.
The Shoreless Sea floated calmly behind him.
Ingrid's smile tightened slightly.
Oh no.