The morning sun painted the sky with a soft golden hue,
as birds chirped lightly above the thick trees.
At the edge of the forest, a young man with fiery red hair and jet-black eyes was doing push-ups on the dew-soaked ground.
His breaths were steady. Every muscle pulsed with strength.
That was Marcus.
Not far off, another boy with messy black hair and calm green eyes carried a bundle of firewood on one shoulder.
This was Nereus—calm and focused, walking barefoot through the grass.
From between the trees,
Lucas stepped into view, his eyes distant, his steps quiet.
He didn't say a word.
No one noticed the storm behind those silent eyes.
He didn't tell them what had happened the night before…
The confrontation, the heartbreak.
After all, he hadn't looked like himself.
Inside the cabin, Peter sat on the floor, sketching exaggerated faces of nobles in his notebook,
laughing softly to himself.
"Look at this one—what a chin…"
"And this nose! They'll cry if they see this."
He flipped another page, still chuckling.
Everything felt calm.
Too calm.
Then—
A sudden shift in the air.
The birds stopped singing.
The breeze stilled.
A heavy pressure filled the forest.
Like something massive was approaching… slowly, but with purpose.
Marcus sat up.
Nereus turned his head.
Peter stopped drawing.
They all felt it.
Then came the sound of boots against the ground.
Not just one pair—many.
And from between the trees—
A squad of royal knights emerged.
At the front:
A tall man with black hair tied back, a long scar running from the base of his neck to his left eye, and cold, black eyes that pierced everything they looked at.
Commander Darius Kain.
Peter's eyes widened.
"No way… How did they find us?!"
But Darius didn't speak yet.
His eyes scanned each face, calculating.
The knights behind him had their weapons ready.
"This camp is unregistered," Darius finally said.
"No permits. Suspicious individuals. You will come with us."
But Marcus had no patience for words.
Without hesitation, he sprinted forward, his fists clenched.
"Like hell we will!"
A roar left his lungs as he launched a punch straight at Darius.
The commander raised his arm, blocking it—
but the ground cracked beneath them.
Their strength was monstrous.
Both men slid backward, neither giving in.
The other knights rushed forward—
but suddenly—
Vines burst from the ground.
Thick roots and twisting branches tangled around their legs.
"What the—?!"
Nereus stepped forward, both arms raised slightly, green energy shimmering around him.
"You're not taking anyone."
The knights turned in confusion.
"That boy—he's controlling the plants!"
Darius's gaze sharpened.
"Two gifted fighters… unregistered… unlicensed…"
Inside the hut, Peter clenched his fists, watching through a crack in the wall.
"No… I have to think… I have to protect them."
Then, a cold realization struck him.
"Sera…
She mustn't come back here…
Not now."
…
Elsewhere…
In a quiet village far from the chaos,
a beautiful girl with long black hair streaked with gold arranged herbs on a wooden shelf.
Her golden eyes reflected the sunlight peeking through the window.
Suddenly—
a knock at the door.
She turned.
There stood a tall, elegant noble, smiling.
His ash-gray hair and red eyes gave him a haunting, regal beauty.
He wore a luxurious robe, and in his hand—a feathered fan like those held by kings of old.
"Good morning, my lady."
His voice was calm.
It was Prince Ilarious.
And behind that smile…
Danger.
——————
⸻
✦ The Prince's Shadow
The Herb Shop, on the City's Outskirts
Morning was still quiet when a knock came at the door.
It wasn't loud, but it was heavy, as if the air itself had shivered.
Sera looked up from the table.
She hadn't expected a customer this early.
But when the door opened, he stepped in—the man she could never forget.
Prince Ilarious.
He stood tall in the doorway, calm and composed, holding a feathered fan loosely between his fingers. His crimson eyes scanned the shop as though he'd visited a thousand times.
"Are these the herbs you used to put my guards to sleep?"
His voice was soft, almost serene… but laced with frost.
Sera stood firmly—at least outwardly.
Inside her, a storm was spinning.
She didn't answer.
She only met his eyes—steady and still, hiding everything boiling beneath the surface.
But something in his tone… dragged her back to that night.
⸻
✦ Flashback — The Night of the Theft
The Prince's Palace
Sera had slipped inside like a shadow.
The others had worn masks and taken their places.
Her task was the hardest: to steal the amulet.
She had crafted the sleeping herbs herself, scattering them through the guards' hallways.
She waited… minutes passed…
Silence.
She moved forward with confidence. She wasn't afraid. Not until—
Her fingers reached for the velvet pillow holding the amulet.
And then—
A presence.
She turned.
He was there.
Leaning casually against the wall, one hand resting on his fan, his expression unreadable—save for that calm, terrifying smile.
He said nothing.
He didn't shout.
He just… watched her.
And in that silence, something inside her recoiled.
Sera, skilled and unshaken in the worst of moments, felt something she hadn't felt in years: fear.
She tried to enter his mind.
But nothing.
As if his mind was shielded—or inhuman.
And she didn't know what to do.
Every instinct screamed: run.
And so she did.
⸻
✦ Back to the Present
Sera stared at him as he studied the herbs on the shelf.
"I… don't know what you're talking about."
Her voice was calm. Controlled.
He smiled.
He raised the fan to cover half his face—but the terrifying smile still lingered in his crimson eyes.
"I heard one of you can change their appearance."
"But it doesn't seem like that's you… or you would've changed your face the night you stole from my palace, hmm~?"
He took a slow step forward.
"We know who you are… how many of you there are… and where you're hiding."
Her breath caught.
"And you know very well… you are no match for me."
Her heart pounded.
"Why not surrender?"
"The punishment might be lighter that way."
Sera's hands gripped the edge of the table.
"I—"
"I have an excellent sense of smell." he interrupted smoothly.
"You left your scent behind."
He gently lifted the fan higher, almost playfully, as that same smile never left his eyes.
Then came the blow:
"Do you know what's happening right now?"
She didn't answer.
"Your friends… are suffering."
Something shattered inside her.
The faintest twitch in her eye.
The smallest quiver in her lips.
She hadn't known.
But now… she was sure.
It was her fault.
Wasn't it?
If she hadn't shown her face.
If she'd finished the job.
If she hadn't run—
Then he said, in a whisper meant only for her:
"Fear is beautiful… especially when it's not for yourself, but for others."
He stepped closer to the table, his voice like silk over knives.
"How about I make you a deal?"
"Turn yourself in… and I might overlook the rest."
But she didn't answer.
For the first time… she didn't know what to do.
⸻