The night wind carried the scent of blood and smoke. From a ridge far above the ruined estate, the Hound watched in silence, his massive blade driven into the earth beside him. Crimson moonlight gleamed off his armor as his eyes lingered on Kairo and Igron — their true forms now revealed.
A low rumble escaped his throat. Not laughter. Not anger. Something closer to respect.
He pulled the blade free, slung it across his back, and turned away. The children below clung to one another in fragile unity, but his task was done. His mistress would want to know.
—
The upper middle realm, deep within the forgotten halls of the Eryndor estate. Torches burned low as the great doors creaked open, and the Hound stepped inside, kneeling before the woman who waited on a throne carved from black stone.
Her hair fell like silver fire, eyes gleaming with a power that once shattered battlefields. She studied him without blinking.
"Well? Did you find them?"
The Hound bowed his head. "Yes, my lady. More than children… older. Clever. Survivors. One cloaked in crimson eyes, the other with a will sharp as his blade."
For a moment, silence filled the chamber. Then, slowly, her lips curved into a smile.
"Older, then? Good." She leaned forward, her voice rich with satisfaction. "Trickiness, cunning, survival… these are not flaws, Hound. They are the marks of predators. Marks of the Eryndor."
Her hand tightened on the throne's armrest.
"Bring them to me. I do not care if the world calls them liars, killers, or demons. If they can survive, they can carry my name."
The Hound bowed lower, his great blade scraping the stone floor.
"As you command, my lady."