The forest no longer shimmered with early magic; the light had grown languid, golden and low, draping across the trees like a dying flame. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the emerald canopy, dancing across moss and fern, giving the Eastern Glade an almost mythic stillness.
But the students moved with purpose, breathless and bound, driven by task and time.
Hua-Jing and Mei-Xi-Li, still tethered wrist to wrist by Professor Galadriel's rune-spell, were crouched beneath the boughs of a crooked cedar. The air was thick with damp loam and wildflower musk.
"There—beneath the root." Mei-Xi-Li pointed.
A soft glow pulsed just beneath a twisted tangle of bramble.
"That's the third." Hua-Jing exhaled, voice tight with effort.
The two girls moved in synchrony, ducking, crawling, pulling the shard free. It shimmered in Hua-Jing's palm like starlight imprisoned in crystal.
"That's all three," Mei-Xi-Li said, brushing the dirt from her leggings.
"About time."
Elsewhere across the glade, others emerged—exhausted but victorious.
Wang Ji-Pang and Elizabeth Feng were bickering, as usual, though both bore faint smiles. Their third shard hovered in a levitation orb between them, glowing gently like a floating sigil of triumph.
Finn and Mika Yamana stumbled from a grove of whispering ferns, slightly scuffed but grinning with reluctant camaraderie.
"Next time," Finn muttered, "I lead."
"Next time," Mika replied, smirking, "you don't trip over your own weapon."
The students made their way out of the glade as the sun began its descent, their movements slowed by fatigue but charged with the thrill of success.
The field was now bathed in amber. Professor Galadriel Anterwyn stood upon the dais once more, her expression poised, gaze sharp.
One by one, the students returned—presenting their glyph shards, the magical bonds fading as they crossed the rune threshold. Voices murmured in triumph, laughter echoed between benches, sweat mingled with satisfaction.
Galadriel surveyed the rows.
Her brow furrowed.
She counted again.
Her voice, crisp and level, rang through the quiet:
"Where are Aleeman Hakiman and Shi Zhao Mei?"
Heads turned. Students looked around.
Hua-Jing, stepping forward and brushing leaves from her tunic, looked up quickly.
"They were ahead of us," she said.
"My brother and Zhao Mei separated from us early—after the first glyph. They were supposed to return before any of us."
Galadriel's eyes narrowed.
For a moment, she said nothing—only turned her head toward the tree line, the wind lifting the hem of her robe.
Her silence changed the air.
Then she spoke, voice colder.
"Something is amiss."
She raised her hand, casting a low detection spell—a shimmering veil of pale blue light fluttered above her palm before dissipating into the ground.
No trace.
No glyph trail.
No return signal.
She turned sharply toward her assistant.
"Alenka."
The ever-composed Alenka Anastasios von Eridani, who had until now been quietly logging names, looked up, a flicker of concern slipping past her polished expression.
"Yes, Professor?"
"Inform Headmaster Falani. Tell him two of our finest are missing in the wilds. I want all available faculty mages scanning the perimeter. Send for the Sentinels. We may not have time."
Alenka nodded swiftly and vanished through the corridor like a whisper of ink.
The students murmured uneasily.
Hua-Jing's face had drained of colour.
"No," she whispered to herself. "Brother wouldn't just vanish…"
Mei-Xi-Li placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, eyes tight with worry.
Professor Galadriel stood unmoving, arms clasped behind her back, but her jaw was set like stone.
And as the sun dipped beneath the horizon and the last glow kissed the edge of the forest—
two shadows remained unaccounted for.
Night fell like a velvet drape, heavy and slow. The moon hung pale and bloated behind wisps of cloud, casting a ghostly hue across the forest floor. Shadows thickened; the trees stood like ancient sentinels, unmoving and grim. The glade, once alight with magic, now felt quieter—hollow, almost… expectant.
The search party, scattered but connected by urgency, moved through the thickets, their voices piercing the stillness.
"Aleeman!"
"ALEEMAN!"
Finn and Wang Ji-Pang called into the woods, their footsteps crunching through underbrush, breath ragged with worry.
"Shi Zhao Mei!" cried Mei-Xi-Li, her tone cutting through the dark like a hawk's cry.
"Brother! Zhao Mei!" shouted Hua-Jing, her voice faltering, almost breaking.
Further out, Elizabeth Feng and Mika Yamana scoured the stream banks, their lanterns swinging.
Alenka Anastasios von Eridani, composed as ever, led another cluster near the southern ridge.
Even Celeste Marlowe and her trio, subdued and watchful, combed the pathways beneath twisted oaks, their arrogance stripped by fear.
Lanterns flickered like dying stars. Muffled voices echoed, and yet—
No answer came.
Near the treeline, Hua-Jing stumbled, her body sagging under a weight greater than exhaustion. Her lips trembled. Her knees buckled.
"I—can't—"
Mei-Xi-Li, quick as ever, caught her, steadying her with both arms.
"Hold on, Hua-Jing—breathe!"
Hua-Jing's eyes glistened with tears she dared not shed.
"They're gone, Xi-Li. They're nowhere. My brother, Zhao Mei—they just vanished. Not even a sound. Not even a trace."
Her voice cracked. Her fists clenched.
"I—I should've gone back for him. He always—he always protects me, and now—"
Mei-Xi-Li held her tighter, voice firm.
"Stop. You don't get to unravel, not yet. Not until we know. Not until we see."
Suddenly, a shout.
"I FOUND SOMETHING!"
The voice tore through the gloom.
Heads turned. Lanterns whipped around. The students broke into a sprint.
Hua-Jing and Mei-Xi-Li exchanged a look—one part hope, two parts dread—and rushed toward the sound.
They arrived breathless to a small clearing where a handful of students had already gathered. The air was taut, expectant. Professor Galadriel stood at the centre, a faint spell glowing at her fingertips as she examined the ground.
"Professor!" Hua-Jing pushed forward. "My brother—what did you find? Are they here?"
Galadriel's face was grave, her eyes glimmering faintly with unshed comprehension.
A student spoke up.
"We didn't find them… but we found signs. Imprints. Footfalls. Not just two—many."
Lantern light illuminated the forest floor.
Crushed leaves. Drag marks. Indistinct tracks, human-shaped—but jumbled, overlapping, disordered. A struggle. Perhaps a chase.
Galadriel's expression darkened, jaw set like marble.
"Fan out. Search further. This wasn't a disappearance. It was a removal."
Hua-Jing stood frozen, her breath shallow.
"They were taken," she whispered. "Weren't they?"
Before Galadriel could answer, Alenka arrived, accompanied by Celeste Marlowe, who looked paler than usual—troubled, even ashamed.
"Professor," Alenka said softly, "we found something… just off the lower ridge."
From beneath her cloak, she withdrew a blade—long, curved, and shimmering with blood-forged elegance.
Zhao Mei's—Asina Wo Do Blood.
Celeste stepped forward and placed a second item at Galadriel's feet.
Wolf Claw.
Aleeman's sabre. Its edge dulled. Its handle blood-marked.
The two weapons lay yards apart, separated by direction, as though they had been pulled apart forcibly.
The crowd fell into hushed horror.
A few murmured:
"Could it be beasts?"
"A rogue spirit?"
"One of the forest's phantoms?"
Galadriel raised her hand, silencing them.
"No creature takes only weapons. No beast moves with such pattern. This was not wild."
She looked up, her eyes cold, furious.
"This was done by humans."
Gasps rippled through the crowd like a tide of dread. Even those who'd doubted now stood rigid with unease.
Hua-Jing, pale as marble, pressed a hand to her chest, barely breathing.
"Then they've been captured…"
Galadriel's eyes met hers.
Not pity.
Certainty.
"Yes. And we must find out by whom—before it's too late."
Darkness enveloped the chamber, thick and oppressive. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp stone and iron. Chains clinked softly, a grim lullaby in the silence.
A faint groan pierced the stillness.
"Zhao Mei..." Aleeman's voice, hoarse yet persistent, echoed through the gloom. "Zhao Mei, can you hear me?"
A rustle, then a whisper.
"Aleeman?"
Relief washed over him. "You're awake. Thank the stars."
She tried to move, but her arms were hoisted above her, wrists shackled to the cold stone wall. Pain lanced through her shoulders.
"Where are we?" she asked, voice trembling.
"A cell, somewhere beneath the fortress, I presume," he replied, his own chains rattling as he shifted. "I'll find a way out. I promise."
Footsteps echoed, deliberate and slow. The heavy door creaked open, revealing Salvador, his grin smug.
"Well, well," Aleeman sneered. "The lapdog returns."
Salvador chuckled. "Still defiant. Let's see how long that lasts."
Behind him, Queen Liskarm Jee entered, flanked by her daughter, Velimira Kuznetsov, and the imposing Knight Kaelith Voskana.
Aleeman's eyes narrowed. "You..."
Liskarm's gaze was icy. "Aleeman Hakiman. The famed Wolf of Abjannas, now caged." She approached, lifting his chin with a gloved hand. "You took my husband and son from me. Now, I shall take everything from you."
She seized a whip, its leather gleaming ominously.
"Your son challenged me," Aleeman retorted. "He met his fate in fair combat."
"Silence!" she hissed, striking him. The whip cracked, leaving a crimson trail across his back.
Blow after blow, she lashed him, each strike echoing in the chamber. Aleeman gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out.
Turning to Shi Zhao Mei, Liskarm sneered. "And you, the cursed prince turned girl. A fitting companion for this traitor."
"Don't touch her!" Aleeman shouted, straining against his bonds.
Velimira approached Zhao Mei, noticing a glint from her satchel. She retrieved the glass rose, holding it up.
"How quaint," she mocked. "A token of affection?"
Liskarm laughed coldly. "He falls for a cursed soul. How poetic."
Aleeman's eyes blazed. "Mock all you want. Your cruelty only shows your weakness."
Zhao Mei cried out as Velimira pressed the rose's sharp edge against her skin.
"Stop!" Aleeman roared.
Liskarm resumed her assault, each strike more vicious than the last. Blood stained the floor, yet Aleeman remained upright, defiant.
Breathing heavily, Liskarm paused, meeting his gaze.
"You endure much, Aleeman. But everyone breaks eventually."
The atmosphere in the Headmaster's study was thick—oppressive as a brewing storm. The scent of parchment and old oak filled the room, yet even these familiar things could not drown the growing tension.
Headmaster Falani stood behind his vast mahogany desk, his hands splayed flat against the polished surface. His brow was deeply furrowed, his jaw tight with suppressed frustration.
Before him, gathered in anxious clusters, were Professor Galadriel Anterwyn, Alenka Anastasios von Eridani, Hua-Jing, and several aides.
"So…" Falani's voice broke the heavy silence, cold and deliberate.
"…you only recovered their weapons?"
He stared at Galadriel, his gaze sharp as tempered steel.
"But no trace of them themselves?"
Galadriel inclined her head, her expression grim.
"Yes, Headmaster. You heard correctly. No blood trail. No corpses. Only… absence."
The room seemed to contract with the weight of her words.
Alenka, usually poised as marble, spoke next, her voice low but urgent.
"Should we inform Orhan Bey? And Shi Zhao Mei's parents?"
Falani's hands balled into fists atop the desk. With a soft but resolute thud, he slammed his palm down—not in rage, but to anchor himself against the turmoil.
"No."
His voice was iron.
"We will not. Not yet. If Orhan Bey discovers Aleeman is missing, the entire state will be thrown into chaos. And as for Shi Zhao Mei's family—we know too little. It could worsen matters, not mend them."
The others exchanged nervous glances. The firelight flickered, throwing long, twitching shadows against the ancient stone walls.
Hua-Jing, pale and trembling, stepped forward, her hands clasped tightly at her chest.
"Then what shall we do?" she cried.
Her voice cracked—half anguish, half helplessness.
"What if they're hurt? What if—what if they're—"
Professor Galadriel crossed the room swiftly, placing a firm hand upon the girl's shoulder.
"Hua-Jing," she said, her voice a quiet command, "I know you fear for your brother. I know your heart feels torn asunder. But panic will not save them. Patience—and precision—will."
Hua-Jing blinked away brimming tears, nodding weakly.
The Headmaster straightened his back, drawing a long breath through his nose.
"We need help," he said finally, his voice gathering momentum like a distant drumbeat.
"Alenka, send word to Aleeman's comrades—Mehmet Arslan, Tariq al-Khattab, Zayd al-Malik, and Rüstem Bey. Summon them to the academy immediately."
Alenka, already moving, turned briskly at the door.
"Yes, Headmaster."
As the door swung shut behind her, the room fell into a sombre quiet, broken only by the low crackle of the hearth.
Falani turned his gaze once more toward the window, staring into the obsidian blanket of night beyond.
His face was carved in tension—creased brows, lips pressed thin, the faintest tremor in the hand resting atop the desk.
A leader at the edge of certainty.
A man who knew—deep in his bones—that they were running out of time.
The smoky lamps threw flickering shadows across the stone-flagged hall of the Janissaries Guild. The scent of roasted meats, gunpowder oil, and leather filled the air—a familiar perfume of warriors at rest.
Tariq al-Khattab sat cross-legged near the hearth, carefully polishing the curved edge of his sabre until it gleamed like a silver crescent.
Across from him, Zayd al-Malik methodically loaded rounds into the chamber of his rifle, his fingers deft and practised, each bullet slipping into place like a ritual.
And sprawled lazily near the table, Rüstem Bey, broad-shouldered and red-cheeked, was happily devouring a platter of steaming kebabs, the juices running in rich rivulets down his beard. In one hand, he clutched a buttered naan, scooping up gravies as though he were shovelling treasure.
Tariq cast him a wry look.
"It seems, brother Rüstem, as though you've not seen meat in a month."
Rüstem, cheeks full and eyes bulging comically, protested between mouthfuls.
"Not so, brother Tariq! Meats—" he declared, brandishing a dripping naan, "—are the source of strength! Proteins, nutrients, vitality!"
He scooped up more gravies with enthusiasm, utterly unabashed.
Zayd chuckled under his breath.
"At this rate, you'll soon be too round to swing a sabre, Rüstem."
Rüstem only shrugged, licking his fingers with noisy satisfaction.
"Better a round warrior than a dead one!"
At that moment, the heavy doors swung open, and Mehmet Arslan entered, looking utterly exhausted. His uniform was rumpled, his brow slick with sweat.
He slumped onto the nearest couch, groaning.
"Training the new recruits..." he muttered, massaging his aching calves.
"They're softer than boiled figs. It's an ordeal."
Zayd grinned mischievously.
"Poor Mehmet. Shall we bring you a nursemaid?"
Before Mehmet could retort, the telephone perched atop the wall cabinet rang sharply, its metallic jangle slicing through the room.
All three men turned to look at Mehmet, expectantly.
Mehmet, grumbling, pushed himself up and snatched the receiver.
"Marhaba!" he said, overly cheerful.
The room fell silent as he listened, his face growing sober. A series of short nods, a clipped "Understood," and he placed the handset back onto its cradle.
"Who was it?" Rüstem asked around a mouthful of kebab.
Mehmet turned to them, his expression grave.
"It was Alenka. Headmaster Falani summons us to the academy—at once."
"For what?" Tariq asked, crossing his arms suspiciously.
A heavy silence hung.
"Something's happened to Commander Bey," Zayd said softly.
They stood there, unmoving, as the weight of his words sank into the air like lead.
"We don't know yet," Mehmet continued, rallying. "Tariq, Zayd—you're coming with me. Rüstem—you stay and watch the Guild. Keep the soldiers disciplined. I don't want chaos if worse news follows."
Rüstem stood and gave a sharp nod, thumping his fist over his heart.
"Aye, Mehmet Bey! I shall guard it as if guarding my own blood."
With that, the three warriors departed, stepping into the growing darkness where the first stars already prickled the indigo sky.
Meanwhile, far away in the brooding halls of Kumaruchaisan Castle, the torches burned low, casting long, wavering shadows against the stone walls.
Tekfur Kekaumenos Jo-Ann paced before his empty throne, his robes dragging behind him like a stormcloud. His face was contorted in rage, his hands clasped behind his back so tightly the knuckles shone white.
"How?" he barked to no one in particular. "How did they discover our plan? How did Aleeman get ahead of us?!"
The echo of his voice rattled the iron chandeliers.
"It seems," Lenotes Jo-Ann murmured, standing rigid to one side, "there are still traitors nestled among us—so close we see them not."
Alphagut, lurking near the entrance with arms folded, added in his gravelled voice:
"Or perhaps Aleeman placed a spy among the lowborn. A shadow hidden within the mud."
Kekaumenos halted, whirling to face them.
"A spy—or a traitor. Either way, our ambitions lie ruined for now!"
He turned on Lenotes, voice rising.
"And you, you reckless whelp—you unleashed your Knight ability without discipline! You destroyed half our own knights!"
Lenotes bowed his head, shame burning his cheeks.
"Father, with respect, Samiyoshi was the first to wield his Sun ability—"
"No!" Kekaumenos roared, jabbing a finger.
"He only reacted after your foolishness! You ignited the battlefield like a drunken blacksmith—and now our arsenal lies in ash!"
Lenotes, swallowing his humiliation, murmured:
"Forgive me, Tekfur Father."
Before Kekaumenos could retort, a guard entered hurriedly, armour clinking.
"My Tekfur—there is a messenger from Faliton awaiting."
Kekaumenos flung out a hand.
"Send him in!"
Moments later, the messenger appeared, cloaked and dusty, kneeling in homage.
With two hands he extended a sealed letter.
Kekaumenos tore it open with little ceremony.
As his eyes roved over the script, his grim mouth curved—first into a sneer, then into a booming laugh.
"Father?" Lenotes asked, confused.
Kekaumenos snapped the parchment in his hand, his eyes alight.
"It's about the Wolf of Abjannas—and the cursed prince of Ji-Gong!"
"Aleeman and Cursed Prince Wei Yang Hong," Alphagut muttered, his face unreadable, though his fingers curled tightly around the hilt of his sword.
"It's good news, Father!" Lenotes said eagerly.
"We shall have our revenge for Yannis!"
Kekaumenos's voice dripped with venom and glee.
"Aye. Blood for blood. The Wolf will howl—and die."
He snapped his fingers sharply.
"Prepare the carriage. Lenotes—you ride with me. Alphagut, you command the castle in our stead."
Alphagut bowed, a flicker of something—worry?—passing across his otherwise stony face.
"It shall be done, Tekfur."
As Kekaumenos and Lenotes departed, the night closed in, heavy with portents.
Alphagut remained in the darkened hall, his hand resting uneasily on his sword.
And outside, the stars watched in silence, cold and indifferent.
The crescent moon loomed above, casting an argent glow across the academy's towering spires. A low mist clung to the cobbled grounds like a weary ghost.
Tariq al-Khattab, Mehmet Arslan, and Zayd al-Malik dismounted swiftly, their boots striking the ground with urgency. Dust trailed behind them like wounded banners.
As they approached the main steps, the heavy doors swung open with a hollow groan, revealing Alenka Anastasios von Eridani waiting beneath the torchlight, her expression schooled but unmistakably taut.
"Gentlemen," she said crisply, inclining her head. "Headmaster Falani awaits you. Follow me."
Without a word, the three warriors fell into step behind her, their movements brisk, their minds already racing.
Their inner thoughts churned in uneasy silence:
Tariq, lips tight, thought grimly:
If the Headmaster himself calls us at this hour, the news must be grave indeed.
Mehmet, his jaw clenching and unclenching, wondered:
Has the Commander fallen? Has fate played its cruelest hand yet?
Zayd, fingers twitching toward the hilt of his sabre, mused:
Whatever it is—blood or no—we will see it through.
Their boots echoed along the marble corridors, through halls thick with the scent of old paper, candle wax, and something colder—something ominous.
They entered the grand chamber where the fire burned low in the grate. The air was heavy with tension, almost suffocating.
Inside stood Hua-Jing Hakiman, her small frame stiff with worry, flanked by Professor Galadriel Anterwyn, the newly arrived Professor Albus Pot—a stout, spectacled man with parchment-stained fingers—and the formidable Headmaster Falani himself.
Falani's face was a mask of iron restraint, but his knuckles whitened where his hands gripped the desk.
Zayd, frowning, took a cautious step forward.
"Hua-Jing Hatun… something wrong?" he asked, voice low, uncertain.
The girl looked up—her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her lips pressed so tightly they had blanched.
Before she could answer, Falani's voice cut the stillness:
"It is Aleeman Hakiman."
He paused—only a fraction—but the weight of those words fell like a hammer upon them.
"Aleeman and Shi Zhao Mei went missing during today's hunting exercise in the Eastern Glades."
His voice, though level, strained beneath the veneer of command.
"There is no sign of struggle. No trail. No blood. Only their weapons were found."
The room seemed to constrict.
A beat of pure, stunned silence followed.
Tariq's fists clenched at his sides.
Mehmet's face darkened, his jaw twitching with suppressed rage.
Zayd stared at the floor, breathing slow and sharp through his nostrils.
Finally, Tariq stepped forward, his voice a low rumble.
"Headmaster... why have we not informed Orhan Bey? Or Commander Samiyoshi?"
Falani's gaze sharpened.
"Because we must not," he said curtly.
"Should they hear of this now, it would sow chaos across the eastern regions. Panic will help no one—not Aleeman, not Zhao Mei."
He straightened fully, his voice hard as carved granite.
"This must remain among us. Quietly. Discreetly. I am entrusting you three. Find them. Bring them back. Alive."
The three warriors exchanged glances—grim, solemn.
"We will not fail," Mehmet said, his voice thick with promise.
From the side, Hua-Jing stepped forward, her hands clasped together desperately.
"Mehmet… please… bring him back. Bring both of them back—safe."
The elder soldier knelt slightly, taking her hands between his calloused palms with surprising gentleness.
"On my oath, Hua-Jing Hatun," Mehmet said quietly, his voice carrying the gravity of an unbreakable vow, "I shall not return without him."
The girl nodded, tears brimming but unshed.
Without another word, Tariq, Mehmet, and Zayd turned sharply on their heels, cloaks billowing behind them as they left the chamber—three blades honed for war, three hearts burning for their lost brother.
The heavy doors shut behind them with a deep, resounding thud.
The darkness inside the dungeon was stifling—thick as clotted blood, oppressive as a tomb. The only light came from a guttering torch affixed to the wall, casting twisted shadows that writhed across the floor like trapped souls.
Aleeman Hakiman, bound to a heavy iron rod across his shoulders, strained against the weight. The chains bit into his wrists, blood trickling from the raw skin, but he moved—painfully—closer to her.
"Zhao Mei," he rasped, his voice hoarse yet steady.
"Are you alright?"
Across the chamber, Shi Zhao Mei hung suspended, her arms raised by cruel chains, her frame trembling. A bloom of blood spread across her tunic, staining the fabric where the jagged shard of the glass rose had pierced her flesh.
She lifted her head, strands of hair falling across her bruised face, and met his gaze.
"I'm fine, Aleeman," she whispered, her voice fragile as gossamer. But her body betrayed her lie; she shivered with cold, her strength ebbing like a fading ember.
She managed a weak smile, then asked:
"What about you?"
Aleeman gave a ragged chuckle, shifting his weight.
"It's nothing much," he said gruffly.
Then, lowering his voice:
"It's my fault. Because of me, you suffer this consequence."
Zhao Mei's expression hardened, her eyes flashing with an ember of fury despite the agony.
"Don't you dare blame yourself," she hissed, anger threading her words.
"We are bound by choice, not by chains. It is our fight, Aleeman—not just yours."
She winced, glancing up at the rusted hook suspending her.
"There has to be a way out. There's always a way."
But the blood that seeped from her side betrayed her bravado.
Meanwhile, at the heart of Faliton State, the hall stood ablaze with torchlight and murmurs.
Tekfur Kekaumenos Jo-Ann, cloaked in heavy ermine, entered with a flourish, his son Lenotes Jo-Ann and their lieutenant Alphagut trailing behind.
Queen Liskarm Jee awaited them, draped in black and silver, her daughter Velimira Kuznetsov at her side, the knight Kaelith Voskana and the mercenary Salvador Mortayn standing nearby.
Kekaumenos approached, bowing theatrically, and lifted Liskarm's gloved hand to his lips in a mocking display of courtly honour.
"Your Majesty," he drawled, eyes glinting with cold mirth, "your hospitality is famed throughout the realms."
Liskarm smiled thinly.
"And tonight, we play host to two rare beasts—the Wolf of Abjannas, and the Cursed Prince of Ji-Gong," she said smoothly.
Kekaumenos chuckled darkly.
"And where are our guests of honour?"
"Resting in the dungeon," Liskarm said, her voice dripping with venom.
"Given the... tender care they deserve."
Lenotes stepped forward, fists clenching.
"I shall have my vengeance. Aleeman will pay dearly for what he did to Yannis!"
Liskarm arched a brow but said nothing—yet.
The heavy door to the cell swung open with a resounding creak.
Queen Liskarm, Velimira, Kaelith, Salvador, Kekaumenos, and Lenotes entered together, filling the chamber with menace.
Kekaumenos strode forward, sneering at Aleeman's bloodied form.
"Look at you now, Aleeman Hakiman," he spat.
"You who took my son Yannis from me in Pansilar—you will now lose everything you hold dear."
Aleeman lifted his head slowly, his face battered but unbowed.
"Your son chose death when he chose dishonour," he said coolly.
Kekaumenos's face purpled with rage. He drew a dagger and stepped toward Zhao Mei, holding the blade close to her throat.
"Maybe I'll start by carving your cursed companion," he hissed.
Aleeman's voice rang out, strong.
"Wait. Let me whisper a secret to your ear."
Kekaumenos, suspicious but arrogant, leaned in.
In a flash, Aleeman surged forward, smashing his forehead into the Tekfur's nose with a sickening crack.
Kekaumenos collapsed like a felled ox, blood spurting from his nostrils.
"BASTARD!" roared Lenotes.
Seizing a whip from the wall, Lenotes slashed it savagely across Aleeman's back. The lash tore open flesh, leaving gory welts.
Zhao Mei could only watch—her heart splitting—as Aleeman gritted his teeth and refused to cry out.
Liskarm, fuming, turned her cold rage onto Zhao Mei. She drew closer, smiling a viper's smile.
Leaning in, she whispered:
"Soon, all shall know that you are no maiden of renown—but the disgraced Wei Yang Hong, cursed by Heaven."
As Zhao Mei recoiled weakly, Liskarm seized the glass rose, still stained with blood, and cruelly pressed its sharp bud deeper into Zhao Mei's wound.
Zhao Mei gasped—then, laughing bitterly, hysterically, spat blood onto Liskarm's face.
"You think you're mighty," Zhao Mei choked out, her voice a broken melody.
"But you will fall—by a hand you will never see coming."
Liskarm shrieked, slapping Zhao Mei so hard that her head snapped to the side, her lip splitting anew.
She raised her hand to strike again—but Kaelith Voskana caught her wrist firmly.
"Your Highness," Kaelith said evenly, her voice laced with quiet steel, "that is enough. Leave some of them breathing—for now."
Liskarm glared at her, fury blazing, but after a long pause, she yanked her hand free.
"Fine," she hissed.
"Let them rot in the dark a little longer."
With a sweep of her cloak, she turned away. Velimira smirked cruelly as they all filed out, leaving the dungeon once more to silence and the coppery stench of blood.
The door slammed shut behind them.
And in the darkness, two hearts beat on—battered but unbroken.
The air inside Orhan Bey's tent is thick with the rich scent of myrrh, oud wood, and burning sunroot incense. Warm golden lamps flicker lazily, casting intricate shadows on the embroidered carpets from Machekwon and Baiyango that soften the floor beneath heavy cushions. A grand low table, carved from black desert oak and inlaid with mother-of-pearl, displays maps of Halmosian territories, weighted by jade dagger paperweights.
Orhan Bey sits cross-legged on a wolf-pelt carpet, wearing a deep indigo silk tunic embroidered with silver geomantic wards. His scimitar, "Ruh-al-Saqr" (Spirit of the Falcon), rests across his knees. He slowly turns a ring of polished black agate, a family heirloom, murmuring prayers under his breath.
A knock interrupts his contemplation.
Orhan Bey: "Come in."
His eldest son, Samiyoshi, enters, bowing respectfully.
Samiyoshi: "Baba, you summoned me?"
Orhan Bey: "Yes, sit."
Samiyoshi seats himself beside his father.
Orhan Bey: "How fares the trading?"
Samiyoshi: "Thanks to Rabbim, all proceeds well."
Orhan Bey: "God is gracious. And what of Ashai, Aleeman, and Hua-Jing?"
Samiyoshi: "Ashai's glasswork thrives. Aleeman and Hua-Jing are likely engaged with academy matters."
Orhan Bey: "Your mother, Ayesha, returns this summer."
Samiyoshi: "Truly? That is joyous news."
Orhan Bey: "Indeed. I also learned you and Aleeman thwarted Tekfur Kekaumenos and his son Lenotes from reaching the Eastern Region Borderland. I'm impressed by your handling of Lenotes when he unleashed his Knight Ability."
Samiyoshi: "I merely did what was necessary."
Under the starlit sky, Wang Ji-Pang gazes upward, his expression contemplative. Mei-Xi-Li approaches, arms crossed.
Mei-Xi-Li: "You seem troubled."
Wang Ji-Pang: "I am. Concerned for the commander and the 'Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker'."
Mei-Xi-Li: "And Hua-Jing?"
Wang Ji-Pang: "She remains tense but patient. Finn supports her. Yet, I worry for you, Xi-Li. If something befell you as it did Zhao Mei…"
Mei-Xi-Li: "I appreciate your concern. It means a great deal."
Under the moonlit sky, Tariq, Mehmet, and Zayd navigate the wilderness, weapons at the ready.
Tariq: "Any findings, brother?"
Zayd: "Nothing yet."
Mehmet: "Let's split up to cover more ground."
They disperse. Tariq crouches, examining disturbed earth. Noticing freshly dug soil, he signals with a falcon's whistle. Mehmet and Zayd arrive promptly.
Tariq: "The ground here has been recently disturbed."
Zayd: "Could it be the commander?"
Mehmet: "Let's remain hopeful."
They dig, unearthing a corpse clad in woollen garments, face covered. Mehmet inspects a criss-cross black mark on the neck.
Mehmet: "This mark belongs to Salvador's men. We encountered them during the Battle of Kuyin."
Further investigation reveals tyre marks leading northeast toward Faliton.
Zayd: "Could Queen Liskarm Jee be behind this?"
Mehmet: "Inform Headmaster Falani. Tariq and I will remain here."
Tariq: "Shouldn't we pursue them?"
Mehmet: "It's too perilous at night. We must proceed with caution."
In the dimly lit torture chamber, Aleeman strained against the iron rod lashed across his shoulders, its weight biting into his flesh. Chains clinked with every laboured breath, his wrists raw and bleeding. Nearby, Zhao Mei hung suspended, her body limp, blood seeping from a wound inflicted by the glass rose—-stabbed in cruelty by Liskarm.
"Zhao Mei," Aleeman rasped, his voice hoarse. "Can you move?"
She lifted her head weakly, eyes meeting his. "I can try," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Suddenly, a spark ignited in her gaze. "Wait," she murmured. "I can transform... into the dragon."
Aleeman's eyes widened in disbelief. "What? How?"
"No time to explain," she said, her voice gaining strength. "Cover your ears."
With a deep breath, Zhao Mei's body convulsed, bones cracking and reshaping. Scales erupted from her skin, wings unfurled, and with a deafening roar, she transformed into a dark-red dragon. The chains shattered, the chamber walls crumbled, and the very foundations of Faliton Castle trembled.
In the grand dining hall above, Queen Liskarm Jee, Velimira, Knight Kaelith Voskana, Salvador, Tekfur Kekaumenos, and Lenotes were mid-feast when the ground shook violently. Goblets toppled, dishes crashed, and panic ensued.
"What in the name of the gods?" Liskarm Jee exclaimed, rising to her feet.
They rushed outside, only to witness the dark-red dragon soaring into the night sky, Aleeman astride its back.
"Fire! Bring it down!" Liskarm Jee commanded.
Archers released a volley of arrows, but the dragon evaded effortlessly. Enraged, Lenotes activated his Knight Ability: Valkyric Knight Form, wings of light sprouting from his back.
"I'll handle this," he declared, launching into the air.
Aleeman, atop the dragon, drew a revolver and fired, forcing Lenotes to dodge mid-flight. The dragon ascended higher, disappearing into the clouds.
Back in the castle courtyard, Liskarm Jee seethed. "Salvador! Your men are incompetent!"
Salvador bowed his head. "My apologies, Your Majesty."
Above the clouds, the dragon flew smoothly. Aleeman looked down at Zhao Mei, in her dragon form, nestled between the dragon's wings.
"I didn't know you could transform," he said, astonished. "Why didn't you do that earlier?"
Zhao Mei smirked, "I was saving it for a dramatic exit."
Aleeman chuckled, "Remind me never to underestimate you again."
She playfully slapped his arm with her elongated ear, "Consider yourself reminded."
They soared into the night, the stars guiding their path to freedom.