After leaving the monumental gates of Brimhold City, the party launched forward as if the entire Kingdom had challenged them to a nationwide horse derby.
Dust clouds erupted behind their stampede, pebbles screamed as they were trampled under hooves, and startled townsfolk clutched their fruit baskets, diving for cover like ducks in a hailstorm.
They tore through the gates of Brimhold like thunder cracking through steel skies.
Josh Aratat—The Black Dragon, led the charge like a tempest incarnate, his black cloak snapping behind him like the wings of a predator. His horse, a midnight steed bred for war, responded to the slightest nudge of his heel—ruthless, fluid, merciless. His eyes were locked forward. No hesitation. No distraction.
Directly behind him, riding in an almost suspiciously synchronized formation, were Lola and Conrad Stan—wings to his eagle, thunder to his lightning.
Lola rode in his left flank, her grip solid and her focus sharp. Her horse matched his in power, and though her posture was elegant, there was no mistaking the brutal readiness in her every movement. A blade could've passed an inch from her face, and she wouldn't blink.
To Josh's right was Conrad Stan—arms steady, back upright, jaw clenched. No flourish. No fear. Just controlled violence waiting to be unleashed. The three of them formed a flying wedge, an iron arrow ripping through the land, war-bound.
Trailing a bit behind, but with the peace of a nun on holiday, was Ralia Amia. If the others were racing for glory, she was floating on bliss.
Her horse was an elegant black beast, high-born and proud, and Ralia sat atop it like a child on their first ride at the carnival—beaming, swaying, and soaking in the spring breeze like it owed her a favour. She let out a happy sigh. "So this is what the rich feel like… It's like sitting on mobile furniture!"
She had never touched a horse before, except once, accidentally, when she tried to pet one and it sneezed her off her feet. Horses were for merchants, nobles, or people with more gold than sanity. But now? She was galloping with the generals—riding a horse gifted by Josh Aratat himself. The same Josh she had once foolishly attacked. And instead of turning her into dragon food, he'd given her a second chance. Not just survival… but rank, honor, and a place at his side.
Her heart fluttered. Maybe she should offer him something in return. Her loyalty? Already given. Her service? Ongoing. Her body and heart? Hmm…
She peeked at Lola.
Yeah… no. Not trying to get stabbed with eyeliner in her sleep.
That train of thought screeched to a halt and crashed into another.
Conrad Stan. The awkward, powerful, too-noble-for-his-own-good idiot who confessed to her like a drunk poet on a rooftop. She liked him, sure—but now his confession was fermenting strange new feelings inside her. Feelings that tickled. That itched. That made her stomach do small acrobatics whenever he glanced her way.
Suddenly embarrassed, she kicked her horse to go faster, dusting the ten generals behind her like a boss. Let them eat dirt.
But fate is a mischievous playwright.
Her horse, inspired by absolutely nothing, decided to dramatically trip on air. One second she was Queen of the Wind, the next she was flailing through it, limbs flapping like laundry in a hurricane.
"AIEEEEE—!"
Ralia shot forward with the trajectory of a thrown javelin, heading straight for a very unfriendly tree with the grace of a tossed potato. She could see the bark coming. Fast.
Well, at least I die dramatically… That's something.
But someone else had been paying attention.
Conrad Stan's eyes had been glued to her since the moment her horse looked suspiciously like it was thinking evil thoughts. As soon as it stumbled, he moved with the swiftness of a man possessed.
In one smooth move, he crouched atop his galloping horse, balancing like a circus acrobat on espresso. His armor clinked but didn't slow him. His eyes flicked to Lola.
"Lola—your whip!"
"Excuse me—WHAT—"
Too late. He used a newly-mastered skill he called motionless movement—which sounded philosophical, but was really just a fancy way of saying "yoink without walking." The whip flew from her side into his hand like a loyal pet answering a whistle.
Lola blinked. "Did he just— yank my whip from me mid-gallop?!"
With masterful precision, Conrad threw the whip. It didn't snap or crackle with force—it slithered through the air like a ribbon in a breeze. Then—fwip!—it looped around Ralia mid-air, right as she was preparing to make passionate contact with the tree.
"OOOF—OW! WHY IS THIS SO TIGHT?! MY KIDNEYS!"
It stung like betrayal, bit like regret, and wrapped her up with the enthusiasm of a clingy toddler. Blood welled up in a few places, but it was better than the collision course she was on with the bark of the ever welcoming tree that stood like a monument to future regrets.
Conrad gritted his teeth and reeled her in, muscles bulging like he was reeling in a sea monster from the depth of the ocean. With a final pull, he snatched her from death's doorstep and swung her onto his horse, right in front of him.
Panting, stunned, and now slightly tangled in his arms, Ralia blinked. "Thank you Conrad, you just saved my life...but...Are you always this dramatic?"
He smirked. "Only for you."
Behind them, Lola blinked several times, then muttered, "I'm sorry, what in the name of horses just happened?!"
She replayed the entire scene in her head. The balance. The crouch. The whip theft. The perfect catch.
"This man has never done that in training. He fell off a wooden dummy last week, was he playing at something or pretending!"
From behind, one of the generals muttered, "I swear I saw him trip on his own sword."
Lola glared at them all, then back at Conrad—now holding Ralia like a romantic novel cover.
"…If he starts glowing or flying next, I'm calling a priest."
The dust settled as Josh Aratat reined his horse to a halt.
One by one, the generals slowed, their steeds huffing clouds of breath into the air, muscles quivering from the furious charge. Hooves pawed the earth. The wind fell quiet.
Ralia Amia's horse collapsed, legs giving out beneath it. A low, pained grunt escaped its throat.
She slid off Conrad's horse without a word, her boots hitting the earth with a dull thud, and moved toward her fallen companion.
The others looked on—silent.
She knelt beside the horse, laying a hand against its sweat-slicked flank. Her eyes shimmered with emotion, but she said nothing at first.
Instead, she felt.
Her gift as an Empath poured from her palm like invisible light—warm, calming, undeniable. The horse's breath slowed. Its tremble faded.
"It's okay," she whispered, her voice soft enough to hush thunder. "And I'm sorry. I pushed you too hard."
Her palm moved gently over its muzzle. "Can you return to Brimhold City? Wait for me at the Black Dragon base?"
To the onlookers, it was surreal. The air shifted around them as if a lullaby had been woven into the breeze. The horse—wounded, weary—blinked slowly.
Then, with a strained effort, it stood. Limping, but proud.
And it turned.
No reins. No command. It simply walked, step by painful step, back in the direction of the city.
Silence.
"…Being an Empath is so cool," Shammah breathed, the awe etched into his voice.
Adino nodded beside him. "Honestly… I wish she could make me feel better all the time."
Another general let out a slow whistle. "That was… beautiful."
Josh Aratat stepped forward, the silence parting around him like water around a prow.
"You alright, Ralia?" he asked, voice low.
She rose, brushing dust from her knees. "Yes, boss. Just a few cuts from the whip."
Her eyes flicked to Conrad Stan—stoic, unreadable, gaze cast away.
Josh tossed a small vial her way. "Here. It'll help."
She caught it in one clean motion. Uncorked. Drank.
The potion sparkled faintly in her throat, and she exhaled like a wound had closed.
"Thank you," she said, voice steady. "Truly."
Josh gave a curt nod, already turning. "You'll have to ride with someone else now. Pick—"
But he didn't finish.
Conrad Stan was already beside her, arm extended.
Not eager. Not dramatic. Just inevitable.
His expression was ice. His eyes scanned the others—not with invitation, but warning.
The unspoken message echoed across the clearing: Try it. I dare you.
Not a soul moved.
Even Josh paused mid-step and looked between them. Then he simply nodded. "Good."
Relia smiled faintly and took Conrad's hand. He helped her up without a word, and as she settled behind him on the saddle, the others resumed formation.
The wind picked up again. The horses pawed forward.
They were moving once more—toward war, toward destiny.
But something had changed in that moment.
Respect. Power. Emotion.
The others felt it.
Relia's horse wasn't the only one who'd been claimed that day.