"You really think those little shardlings could actually do the job?"
Nyra's voice cut the wind. She vaulted a massive, mossy root, moving through the thick trees like it was a parkour track. The golden light sliced through the leaves, but she wove right past the beams as if they were solid objects.
Damon shifted Princess Alya higher on his shoulder. Her skin was turning grey, chillingly cold. It was a heavy reminder that the clock was ticking. He kept up the brutal pace despite the dead weight. Next to them, Cythera kept up, swinging down low from an oak branch.
"My plan wasn't exactly Mr. Perfect," Damon replied, his boots crunching against the damp ground before he launched himself off a boulder. He planted a single foot against the trunk of a towering pine, bouncing off wood to clear thorny bushes. "But if they execute it flawlessly, they should still be alive."
He dropped through the air, his boots skidding on a steep slope. "Besides, wait a minute. You're their classmate, so you're technically a shardling too."
Nyra glanced back without breaking stride, wagging her finger at him. "Not exactly, big bro. I'm a hardened shardling. I've partaken in actual, kill-or-be-killed battles, remember?"
Damon let out a low chuckle, scrambling for a better grip as they hit the top of a rocky ridge. "Fair point. But a shardling is still a shardling, even if it's hard. So..."
"Keep your pebble brain to yourself and let's focus on finding Klaven," she shot back, a quick smirk breaking through her serious face. "Cythera, how many hours do we have left?"
Cythera blinked, clutching a nearby oak branch as Nyra's voice jolted her out of her thoughts. She swung forward, dropping onto a thick, mossy ledge right next to them."Hm? Oh," Cythera said, her voice momentarily lacking its usual sharp edge. She glanced down at her wrist interface. "We have twenty-two hours left to return Princess Alya's core."
Damon didn't break his stride, but he glanced over, catching her expression out of the corner of his eye.
'Is she alright?' Damon thought, his mind flashing back to the grim darkness of the underground vault. 'I'm usually the quiet one, but she hasn't said a single word since we left the crypt. Is it 'cause of Klaven? I thought she said she didn't like him...?' Damon exhaled, pushing the thought away. 'I'll ask later. We should focus on getting Alya's core.'He looked back toward the path, watching the trees blur past.
'If Klaven is headed to see Doran, he'd definitely go this way. It's the fastest route to reach the school. But there's no sight of him anywhere in this dignified forest. I can't even sense his Ki signature at all. What if I—'
He paused mid-thought. A subtle shift in the rhythm of their footsteps caught his attention.
'Hmm? Why is she slowing down?'
Damon looked back. Nyra had almost certainly been setting the pace a second ago, but now she was dropping behind. Cythera saw it too. She cut her momentum and dropped onto a thick branch ahead, turning around with a frown.
"Are you seriously slowing down?" he called back. "Don't tell me you're getting tired already. It's not even been—"
Before he could even finish the sentence, Nyra launched off a massive root and flew straight at him.
Damon reacted instantly. He whipped Princess Alya's cold body off his shoulder, catching her in a secure princess carry against his chest just as Nyra slammed into his upper back, dropping right onto his shoulders. She dug her fingers into his hair to balance herself as she sat.
He absorbed the extra weight without missing a step, his boots carving into the dirt as he drove their momentum forward. His voice, however, didn't match his control:
"Nyra! What the heck?!"
"No foul words, big bro," Nyra said, closing his mouth from above with her palm as she settled onto his shoulders. "Don't tell me you forgot your offer? A few days ago, you promised to always let me sit on these sturdy boards if we were ever travelling on foot."
Damon tried to speak, but Nyra's hands smothered his face, and his arms were completely pinned by the princess. He pulled hard against her grip, finally tearing his mouth free.
"I haven't forgotten the deal, because I remember telling you that you'd sit there when I can let you! Not when a princess is dying!"
Nyra raised an eyebrow from above. "Whaaat? Have you forgotten your sister's also a princess? You're going to carry another princess when I'm right beside you?"
Damon groaned as he leaped over a fallen trunk, whispering a surrendering, "It's uncomfortable. Also, keep your voice down. I might be making us invisible right now, but they can still hear us."
"On the contrary, it looks pretty comfortable to me," Nyra noted. "And maybe you should practice your theory. Sound bending with your wind."
"I'd be able to do that if my arms weren't full."
They kept running, eyes scanning the dense undergrowth for any sign of Klaven.
'We need to get Mom to know what's happening here,' Damon thought, his eyes tracking the tree line. 'But the problem is, if she knew, she'd come here too fast. And she wouldn't silence her arrival either, especially if Bravira tails along. That just increases the chances of Doran's escape. Hmmm. Daichi.'
'Daichi,' Damon called telepathically.
Without breaking stride, the wolf popped his head out of Damon's coat pocket and let out a single, sharp bark.
'Daichi. You know the way back home from school, right? Sorry, but I'll need your help with this.'
Daichi replied telepathically, 'Yep. From here we pass through The Corehouse of Plenty and—'
'No, no, no. Not today,' Damon interrupted. 'I want you to head straight to the palace in your tiniest dog form and tell Mother what's going on. I'm not exactly sure how you'll do that, but try your best. Tell her to trust Nyra and me, and to take her time. Also, mention I said she should NOT bring Bravira. Instead, call Draven and bring Hazel too.'
'Err… Damon, that's a lot to remember,' Daichi whined mentally. 'If I had meat with me, though…'
Nyra reached out from his shoulder, snatching a passing bird right out of the air. She blew a quick puff of fire to flash-cook it, tossing the snack down in a single split-second move. Daichi sprang from Damon's pocket, catching the smoking treat square in his jaws.
Damon glared upward. "What are you doing? What if they sense your eterna?"
"We have to get a message across, Damon," Nyra said, adjusting her balance with ease. "The only way Daichi'll remember all of that is with meat. I've got snacks in the mini dimension Tolrex gave me, but it's not meat."
'I almost forgot. Tolrex gave her a necklace to store things in a mini dimension the day he gave me my car. I left my mini dimension home. It's not very useful no is it? No, maybe to hide Alya's core it is.'
Daichi swallowed the bird whole, whispering telepathically, 'Trust me, Damon. I'll get to Mom quietly.'
A flash of light sparked, and the wolf shrank down into his tiniest, most ordinary dog form before slipping into the dark underbrush.
They tore through the thick, uneven woods of the Woewyn outskirts. Even with Alya's cold, skeletal weight dragging on his shoulder, Damon slammed a hand onto a fallen, mossy trunk and threw himself over it without losing speed.
Nyra braced herself on his shoulders, leaning into the turn as he moved. To his side, Cythera ran low to the dirt, keeping up with long, easy strides. Hitting a jagged outcrop of rock, she planted a boot against the stone, cleared the ridge in a low vault, and hit the ground running.
"Cythera, you've been quiet," Damon called out.
Cythera blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. "Hm? Sorry. I was just… lost in thought."
Damon and Nyra exchanged a glance.
"If this is about Klaven," Damon said, breath steady despite the pace, "I'm not planning revenge for what he did at the Trineum festival. Even if he was an enemy, I'll try to reduce his charges or something."
Cythera's eyes flicked toward him. "That's good to know."
She leaped off a massive exposed root, landing lightly before continuing. "But it's not about revenge. You'll understand later. Let's just focus on finding him."
As she faced forward again, the rhythm of her boots faded from her awareness—replaced by the heavy silence of a memory.
FLASHBACK — BEFORE THE TRINEUM FESTIVAL
The quiet dining room echoed with the sound of cutllery hitting plates. They sat at the long, polished table, making small talk about noble houses and politics. Cythera sat right between her mother and father, while Klaven sat opposite her, flanked by his own parents.
While the adults gossiped, Klaven slouched with his shoulders down. He kept spinning his fork into a single bean, staring at it like nothing else in the world mattered.
"I heard you only managed to chip the training targets yesterday," Klaven's mother remarked, casually swirling the wine in her glass before looking up. Her eyes flicked to the bean on his fork.
"Which brings me to my point—what stage are you on now, Klaven? Because your cousin Cythera is already outgrowing her tutors, yet you seem perfectly content poking vegetables. Even the new Majesty, Prince Damon, has already reached the Aegis stage. The boy's only been on Woewyn for a few weeks, and he is already showing the kind of prestige a true Royal family should carry. Even though we are only Nobles."
Cythera's mother offered a blunt, realistic nod. "Cythera's an anomaly on the low end of the Aeon stage, brutally surpassing her peers by carrying centuries of power at such a young age. The Chosen One, as your mother noted, has only trained for a few weeks and is remarkably at the peak of the Aegis stage. You're all the same age."
Cythera thought to herself, 'Expecting him to match an Aeon at seventeen is absurd— but no one at the table seems to care. You just said I was an anomaly yourself, but if there were more like me, I'd be less of an anomaly. The only Aeons I know aside from myself are over three hundred. That's the whole point of being an anomaly. There are times I wish I weren't a noble, or at least grandfather were here to show how drastic these comparisons are. This is one of them.'
From across the table, Klaven's father tried to intervene, aiming to pamper his son and soften the sting. "Now, now, let's not get carried away. Klaven is a Voren. But of course, he can't compare to the Chosen One—the boy's a true anomaly. It's unfair to expect my son to keep up."
Klaven's breath hitched—barely audible, but Cythera and her father heard it.
Cythera watched from across the table as Klaven's grip tightened around his fork. His knuckles went white, the silver shaking against his palm as he stared fixedly at his plate. Without warning, he threw his chair back, the legs screeching against the floor.
"I'll be leaving."
"Sit back down," his mother commanded, her voice leaving zero room for argument. "Does it hurt being weak, my son? Well, if you don't like it, change it. Everyone in our family surpasses those above them. Cythera is younger, even though only a few months, but better. The new prince has barely trained and is amusing. But you're just… here. Stagnant."
The suffocating tension hung heavy over the table.
Cythera set her silverware down and fixed her gaze on Klaven's mother, "I don't know if you've noticed, Aunt, but being an Aegis stage mage at the age of seventeen is incredibly impressive. He's rare in the country and the entire Kingdom. You're only saying this now because the Trineum match is coming up, and you've disregarded that he's fought to be amongst the top twenty mages."
Klaven's mother held a smile. "Wow… defending your cousin, that's a new one. I'd always hoped you'd grow out of your coldness toward Klaven, and now that you have, you can't possibly expect me not to compare his immature nature to yours."
"You're mistaken. I don't hate him. I just—"
Cythera's father instantly snapped his head toward his daughter, his expression stern. "Cythera."
"But father—"
He calmly shot her a stern look, and she kept quiet.
The clattering of cutlery at the table went on for a moment before Cythera's father spoke again, turning his gaze across the porcelain. "In my opinion, as your uncle, you could be better, Klaven. Cythera reached Aeon long before this age; in fact, you should be better. There's nothing simple about being an Aegis. If your grandfather were here, he'd commend your strength. However, the point remains—as Cythera will not be competing this time, do not disgrace us. If she can do it, you should be aiming higher."
Cythera's mother added, "Speaking of your grandfather, wouldn't it be a shame if the headmaster of the festival being run has his grandson lose against a boy who's only been training for a few weeks?"
Across the table, Klaven sat frozen. He kept his head down, staring blankly at the half-eaten food on his plate. A single bead of condensation rolled down his untouched water glass, dripping onto the polished wood below.
"I'm tired of it."
The words forced their way out of his tight throat before he could stop them.
Out of sight, his fingers dug into the underside of the mahogany table, his knuckles turning a brittle white against the wood. Klaven's father lowered his glass. "What did you say?"
"I said I'm tired of it!" Klaven slammed both hands onto the table, making the glassware rattle." Every chance you get, I am compared to something. I don't care about the opinions and expectations of others, even though I surpass them every single day. But you," he turned, his gaze sweeping over the elders at the table, "I can't seem to satisfy you regardless of what I do. My tutors are in their fifties, and I've reached their stage as a child. I'm sorry that's not enough for you!"
The room froze. Nobody reached for their silverware. The wine in his mother's glass settled as the ambient hum of the grand hall died into a heavy, dragging silence.
On the far wall, a grandfather clock ticked, counting out the seconds while the elders stared back at him with completely blank faces.
Klaven stood straight, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
"You don't listen to me when I speak. You just hear it. Listen now. I'm strong. I am. And I'll prove it. I'll win the Trineum Festival. And I'll beat the prince you think I can't even light a candle to."
Klaven turned from the table and proceeded out, his boots thudding against the polished wood.
Cythera called out, her voice rising to reach him before he hit the door, "Klaven, wait—"
Klaven didn't look back, throwing his words over his shoulder as the heavy doors began to swing shut. "I'm older than you. Just because you're stronger than me doesn't give you the right to tell me what to do."
The room instantly went silent, save for the ticking of the grandfather clock.
Cythera watched as Klaven slammed the door and left the room. And had one certain thought:
'I knew it in that moment that he was hurt. And that pain would cause him to do something stupid.'
PRESENT— FINDING KLAVEN
The memory of the Voren dining hall vanished as a sharp, pained grunt ripped through the damp forest air ahead.
Damon's ears twitched. "This way!" he called out.
He dug his boot into the soil, pivoting hard to the right. Cythera followed his lead instantly, her face hardening with cold determination as they tore through the thick brush. Branches whipped past their faces as the ground sloped downward into a dark, rocky ravine.
They burst through a wall of briars into a ruined clearing—and froze dead in their tracks.
Doran's cybernetic humanoids were scattered across the dirt, their metallic chassis smoking from jagged, melted holes punched right through them by intense fire. But the fight was already finished.
In the center of the wreckage stood a massive, undamaged humanoid. Its four mechanical arms shifted with terrifying accuracy.
The machine held Klaven entirely off the ground by his neck. His head hung limp, blood streaming from a fresh gash on his forehead and pouring dark and heavy from both ears.
His eyelids fluttered, fingers scratching weakly at the cold metal around his throat. His eyes rolled, unfocused—he was seconds away from completely blacking out.
The humanoid's free arm shifted, the forearm casing sliding back as a high-density energy blast whirred to life, aimed directly at Klaven's chest at point-blank range. Its third arm clutched Princess Alya's core, while the fourth held a sword.
The condensed blast glowed a blinding, volatile blue, ready to erase him.
Damon, with Nyra still clinging to his shoulders and Princess Alya in his arms, stood beside Cythera and stared at the scene, completely stunned.
"What?" Damon breathed, his voice dropping into a stunned whisper. Nyra's claws dug into his shoulders, but Cythera's breath stopped entirely.