Family Bakery (Sira's Shop), Main Market, Arian Core
"Was it a dream or not… I can't tell." Adam frowned, splashing cold water on his face behind the bakery. He scooped another jugful from the barrel, the icy touch biting at his skin.
"I'll think about it later," he muttered. "The festival starts today. With Crown Prince Orion's coronation coming up, the market will be packed." He sighed, shoulders slumping.
"I wanted to play with Tia and Boreas… but now I have to help at the bakery. This is the worst." He pouted and poured another splash of water over himself. Mud began to gather beneath his bare feet.
Inside, Sira had already started baking. A spatula in one hand, a bowl of batter in the other, she stirred carefully, the warm scent of sugar and butter wrapping around her.
"Grandpa, how are the decorations going?" she asked, still focused on the bowl.
"I hung the new welcome sign and placed the name cards under each of your specialties," said Grandpa Tywin, shuffling into the kitchen with his usual slouch. "All that's left is the outside."
"Don't push yourself, Grandpa. Adam can do the rest." Sira smiled, her freckled face glowing in the oven's light as she slid a tray of cookies in.
"I just want to help. Make sure you're not frowning again on the first day of the festival," he said, easing himself into a chair by the counter.
"I'm not mad about last night, Grandpa," Sira said, exhaling as she sliced a loaf of bread into neat, pyramid-shaped pieces.
"I see. Still, you should say that while looking at the person." Tywin rose slowly, filling the kettle and setting it to boil.
"What's going on?" Adam appeared in the doorway, wearing a black blazer and blue leggings. "Is there a fight?"
A drop of water slid from his hair and hit the floor.
"Nothing, Adam. You should dry your hair—you don't want to catch a cold," said Tywin, pouring steaming tea into a cup.
"Perfect timing," Sira said. "Go clean the front board, add some flowers, and hang the lanterns. We'll light them after dark."
"I will. As soon as I dry my hair." Adam retreated upstairs before she could respond.
Sira groaned. "He's dodging work already. Grandpa, can you deal with him?" She began adding frosting to the pyramid-shaped bread.
Upstairs
Adam lay sprawled on his bed, kicking his legs in the air.
"Look at the beauty of my so-ooul," he sang under his breath.
He added another line, softer this time: "Is killing me something you'd choose?"
"I've never heard that song before," Tywin said from the doorway, smiling faintly.
"Did you listen to many songs, Grandpa?" Adam asked, sitting up.
"No," Tywin chuckled, "but you hear a few in your life when you live long enough." He shook his head. "Looks like your hair's dry now. Come help out—your singing's terrible anyway."
"That's mean, Grandpa." Adam pouted as he stood, stretching.
Tywin's laughter trailed behind him as he left the room, the sound fading into the clamor rising from the streets below—vendors calling out, wheels clattering on cobblestone, the air already thick with the smell of spice and smoke.
Beyond the bakery's narrow windows, Arian Core stretched wide and brilliant, banners unfurling across bridges and towers as the city prepared for the coming coronation.
And far above it all, Aethercastle loomed over the skyline, its silver spires catching the morning sun like a crown already waiting.
Aethercastle, Arian Core
King's Chambers
A knuckle wrapped in steel tapped against the door.
Knock... knock.
"Your Highness, Duke Glykeria is awaiting your arrival in the throne room," a woman's voice called through the door.
"Understood. He's early, it seems." King Orios straightened his cuffs and stepped into the light. "You may come in, Agatha."
The door creaked open. Agatha entered, her armor faintly clinking. "Your Majesty, please change into formal attire fitting for such a meeting," she said, a small frown settling on her face.
"As the bearer of the curse, I can't do that." Orios coughed, pressing a hand to his chest. Then his tone softened. "Look at you—so grown up now. You were barely ten when we took you in and sponsored your training at the Knights Academy. You couldn't even meet my eyes back then."
"Knights Academy helped me a lot, and I am grateful for your Highness's kindness," Agatha replied firmly. "But please don't change the subject—"
"I'll head there now, Knight Agatha," Orios interrupted, brushing past her with quiet finality.
Agatha bowed slightly. "Then allow me to escort you, Your Majesty."
Orios didn't answer immediately. His steps echoed down the marble corridor, the golden sigils along the walls glimmering faintly.
"It was easier when Father was king," he murmured, almost to himself, before continuing toward the throne room.
Arian Knights Headquarters, Arian Core
"Ugh, a few more boxes and everything will finally be inside," a knight grumbled, adjusting the rope tied around his waist. His brown wool sweater was damp with sweat despite the cold.
"Why does a silver-brick fortress like this even need coal?" another asked, setting down a crate with a groan.
"You don't know? Winter's supposed to be harsher this year. They're stockpiling fuel to send to the outer towns if shortages hit."
"Grandmaster Silus thinks of everything, huh? Managing the Knights in Aethercastle and keeping order in Arian Core should be enough, but he still finds time to plan for the poor."
Grandmaster's Office, Arian Knights Headquarters
"What's the report?" Grandmaster Silus asked, his voice calm but sharp.
"We've uncovered a slave auction on the edge of Lesomagiya Forest," the armored knight replied. "Preparations for the siege are underway."
Silus's frown deepened. "Even with the laws so clear… some people just refuse to let go of their greed." He ran a hand through his amber-gold hair; the firelight caught in his emerald eyes, turning them dim with worry.
"Slavery's been outlawed for decades," the knight said. "But every year we find one or two rings still running. The profits are too tempting."
"I know," Silus said quietly, resting his sword against the table. "When gold shines that bright, people stop seeing the faces they ruin."
Lesomagiya Forest, Arian
Deep within the forest of wyrmwood trees, a wooden dome rose like a secret grown from the earth itself. A red carpet stretched from its entrance, absurdly bright against the green gloom. Two guards flanked the doorway, checking every guest who arrived.
"Oh, hello, gentlemen~. The auction's early this time. A surprise change, hmm?" A green-haired man stopped before the guards, a sly grin cutting across his face.
"I'm not at liberty to say. Name?"
"Groza, from the Roselight Brothel."
The guard flipped through his list, then nodded. "You're on the roster. Description matches. Here—" he handed over a small metal plate marked 301. "Wear your mask inside. Refer to yourself only by your number."
Groza accepted it with a lazy laugh and stepped through the doorway.
Inside, the air was thick with perfume and candle smoke. Velvet curtains muffled every sound, and crystal lamps cast fractured light along the corridor. Guards moved silently, their armor dulled to avoid reflection.
Groza entered Room 301, closed the door, and exhaled. The room was almost identical to the corridor—lavish, suffocating—but one wall was a one-way mirror, facing the main floor below.
"So that's how they display their 'products'," he muttered, eyeing the notepad on the table. "We write our bids, never see who else is competing. Perfect way to bleed us dry."
He smirked bitterly. "They know exactly what the law forbids—and how much more valuable that makes the forbidden."
Groza sank into the couch, uncorked a bottle of wine, and took a sip. "Maybe Matron Thea will be glad if I don't buy anything. I'm only here for information anyway."
"Now then," came a voice from below, "the auction is about to begin."
From the shadows behind the stage, a man was kicked into the light. His skin was bruised, his black hair matted with dirt. Chains clinked as he stumbled—bare, trembling, humiliated.
"My… he's got a fine build," Groza murmured. "Would've done well at Roselight."
The man tried to stand, turning slowly as instructed. Then a yank from the dark pulled him off his feet and dragged him screaming from the stage.
"NEXT."
A small girl was shoved forward. Tattered clothes hung from her frame, and fresh bruises marred her skin.
"Looks about five," Groza muttered, his voice colder now. "Didn't strip her… probably saving that for the monsters willing to pay extra."
Thump.
A faint vibration ran underfoot. Groza glanced up. The chandelier trembled, its crystals chiming softly. No one reacted.
Thump… thump.
Stronger this time. The wine in his glass rippled. Still, the auctioneer pressed on, voice steady, smile unwavering.
"NEXT"
THUMP.
The stage shuddered. Dust sifted from the ceiling. The auctioneer faltered for a heartbeat, then smiled again, forcing cheer.
A woman in the next booth whispered something. Guards exchanged glances.
Groza set his glass down slowly. "That's not wagons."
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
Now the chandelier swayed. Somewhere below, a horse screamed.
"Is that… coming from underground or from above us?" someone murmured.
"What's going on? Why is the building shaking?" Groza frowned as he looked around.
"IT'S A BIG PROBLEM! THAT THING IS STILL ALIVE!!!" Guards came running down the corridors.
"DIDN'T KING ORIOS SLAYED IT YEARS AGO???" another yelled.
"KKKKKKRRAAAAAAAGGHHHHHHHHH!!" A thunderous bellow ripped through the air — a roar so deep it made the ground itself shudder.
Groza's eyes widened as he stood up. And then, the Dome roof over the stage tore apart, debris started to fall as the whole Building shook. A huge head entered facing downwards.
It was Red, its teeth interlocked, a powerful snout, flared nostrils, and eyes with slit pupils. Enhanced by horns, bony spines along the head and neck, there was no denying what it was.
"KKKKKKRRRHHHAAAAAARRRRRHHHHHH"
"IT IS STILL ALIVE!!!!!" Everyone who was present near the stage screamed with terror.
"—AAAGHHHHHH!"
"PALE WYRM IS ALIVE!!!"
Groza gulped as his eyes widened with shock, "It can't be…."