The biting cold wind howled through the streets, swirling snowflakes around the bustling marketplace. Beneath the dim, gray sky, the once-tense atmosphere had softened.
Daryl, now clad in a warm, well-fitted tunic and thick boots, stood among his rescuers, his expression still carrying traces of disbelief. A kind cloth seller had refused payment for his new attire, insisting that Naritsa's presence alone was a blessing to their land.
A short distance away, the scent of spiced tea and freshly baked pastries drifted through the air. Food vendors, having witnessed the dramatic rescue, generously handed out warm cups of herbal tea and crisp, honeyed biscuits to Naritsa, Nebula, Laria, and Daryl.
Nebula took a slow sip, his intense eyes shifting toward Naritsa. His mind brimmed with unspoken questions. Why had she never mentioned being a Guardian Vessel? How did she become a vessel for such great power? And why how many guardian beasts could vessels like her summon?
But before he could voice a single word, Naritsa turned to face him, as if she had read his thoughts.
She shook her head gently, her soft fingers pressing against his lips.
"Not now, please," she whispered apologetically. "I promise, once we find a place to settle, you'll get your answers."
Her touch was fleeting, yet it lingered, leaving Nebula caught in a moment of unexpected stillness. He sighed afterward, lowering his gaze.
Perhaps, he'd wait for now.
Nearby, Jasmin tilted his head to the sky, watching as delicate snowflakes danced in the wind. His sharp eyes scanned the clouded heavens before his expression darkened. He had seen this pattern before—a silent omen.
He shifted toward his men, ordering them to disband from the area before turning to Naritsa and her companions.
"Seek shelter for your safety, Princess." His voice was firm, his gaze unwavering. "Twilight is fast approaching, and when it falls, the ghosts shall reclaim these streets."
A biting wind curled through the marketplace, as if responding to his warning.
However—before Naritsa could reply—
A deep, commanding voice tore through the air like a blade.
"No one walks away!"
The marketplace fell silent.
The once-bustling crowd froze in place, turning their heads toward the direction of the voice. From the distant fog, a massive figure emerged, his footfalls heavy, each step deliberate.
He was a middle-aged man of Asian descent, tall and broad-shouldered, his fur-armored cloak billowing behind him. His muscular frame moved with an aura of power, and at his side, he dragged a massive, double-headed battle axe, the weapon carving deep tracks in the frost-covered ground.
His hawk-like eyes, cold and merciless, settled on Jasmin and the others. Behind him, rows of armed Ghost Land soldiers marched in perfect unison, their weapons gleaming under the pale winter light.
Nebula's muscles tensed, his grip tightening over the revolver he had taken earlier. Laria instinctively positioned herself closer to Naritsa, her hand hovering near her concealed dagger.
The massive man came to a halt, his heavy breath visible in the frigid air.
"Get me the fugitive of the Gog Empire," he commanded, his voice a low, thunderous growl.
A mere flick of his hand, and several soldiers surged forward, their armored boots crunching over the frost as they surrounded Daryl, much to everyone's surprise.
The boy's face drained of color, his breath shallow, eyes wide with terror.
The air grew unbearably heavy as Jasmin's expression twisted with disbelief. His sharp eyes flickered between the towering man before him and the trembling boy behind him. His throat felt dry, but he forced himself to bow, his men following suit without hesitation.
"Your Majesty… King Yaron." His voice was steady, but there was an undeniable tension beneath it.
The name alone was enough to command fear—Yaron, the King of Ghost Land, a man whose power was feared across the North.
Jasmin's fists clenched tightly as he spoke again, his tone edged with confusion. "...What is going on?"
But Yaron did not acknowledge Jasmin's inquiry. His piercing, predator-like gaze locked onto Daryl instead. The corner of his lips curled, forming a menacing smirk.
"You deem yourself smart, little boy." His voice was like gravel, rumbling with both amusement and contempt. He took slow, deliberate steps forward, his double-headed axe dragging across the icy ground, leaving a deep, jagged trail behind it. "What made you think you could evade the eyes of your people? The eyes of the Gog Empire?"
The words sent a shiver down Nebula's spine.
"Gog Empire?" Nebula muttered under his breath, his brows furrowing. He glanced at Daryl, who had gone deathly pale. The boy's hands trembled at his sides.
Laria, too, seemed taken aback, her green eyes darting between the young boy and the imposing king.
Naritsa, on the other hand, remained eerily silent. Her ruby eyes darkened, but her expression remained unreadable.
Sensing the confusion among them, Yaron let out a quiet, humorless chuckle.
"I see… so you truly have no idea." he mused, his smirk deepening into something cruel.
With slow, deliberate movements, the Ghost King lifted his axe, resting it against his broad shoulder. The wind howled louder, whipping through the market like an omen.
"Let me enlighten you, then."
Everyone stood frozen, anticipation and dread clawing at their chests.
"This boy you so carelessly rescued… is a wanted criminal of the Gog Empire."
A hushed gasp rippled through the gathering crowd. The people, once sympathetic toward Daryl, now eyed him with uncertainty and whispered amongst themselves.
Daryl took an instinctive step backward. His breath hitched, his fingers trembling slightly before he forced them still.
Nebula's expression darkened. His eyes bore into Daryl, silently demanding answers.
But the boy said nothing.
Naritsa's gaze snapped to the boy. She searched his face for answers as well, but Daryl refused to meet her eyes. His lips were pressed into a tight, pale line.
Yaron scoffed at the pitiful sight. His smirk twisted into a sneer. "Oh? He hasn't told you?"
The king took another step closer, and the temperature seemed to drop even lower.
"This boy is not just a criminal…" Yaron continued, his deep voice laced with disgust. "He is a fugitive. A weakling unworthy of our world. And, most pitiful of all…"
He narrowed his eyes, his voice dripping with venom.
"He has no guardian of his own."
The words hit like a hammer.
Nebula felt his breath hitch.
Laria's eyes widened.
Even Naritsa's expression shifted ever so slightly.
A Guardianless child? In a world ruled by beasts and their hosts? It was unheard of. How was he still breathing without a Guardian's bond?
Yaron's face contorted in distaste. "Not a Guardian Host. Not even a Guardian Hunter." He let out a scoff, his voice filled with derision. "Utterly pathetic."
Then, his tone darkened, thick with something ominous.
"But he is still of use."
He turned his gaze to Jasmin, his piercing eyes daring him to defy what would come next.
"I was tasked with retrieving him." He exhaled, shaking his head as if this was a minor inconvenience. "In exchange for Ghost Land's safety."
A cold, cruel smile settled on his lips.
"So, hand him over."
A heavy silence followed.
And then, the tension snapped.
"Lies!" Daryl's voice rang out, his young face streaked with desperation. "I have committed no crime against the empire! I only sought to escape their cruelty!" His chest rose and fell rapidly, his fists clenched at his sides.
A sharp inhale from the crowd. Whispers spread like wildfire.
Yaron's fury ignited.
"Silence, boy!" His roar shook the very ground beneath them, the sheer force of his voice booming through the street, shaking the snow-laden earth.
But then—
"No, you be silent, old man."
The words came sharp and cold as steel.
Every gaze snapped toward the voice.
And there he stood—Nebula. Hands casually tucked into his pockets, his stance unshaken by the storm of authority and power raging against him. His gaze was steady, calm—but beneath that calmness was a fire.
Meanwhile, Yaron's expression darkened, his grip tightening on his massive double-headed axe. "Who dares?" His voice was dangerously low, his tone laced with an unspoken promise of death.
A dangerous quiet followed.
Then, Nebula smirked.
"I dare."
The crowd gasped. Even Jasmin tensed. No one had ever dared speak to Yaron like this. Some warriors instinctively reached for their weapons, awaiting their king's signal.
But Nebula took a step forward. His gaze never wavered, never once breaking contact with Yaron's murderous eyes.
"And I stand in Daryl's defense," he continued. "I, too, have witnessed the cruelty of the Gog Empire firsthand. I am a victim of their conquest." His voice carried a weight that could not be ignored. "They never truly seek alliances. They seek only slaves— nothing more than disposable pawns for their twisted ambitions. Any ruler in their right mind would do better than to side with them—"
"—Enough!"
Jasmin's voice cut through the air like a blade.
sharper, like an unsheathed dagger.
In a flash, his bow was drawn, the tip of his arrow aimed directly at Nebula's forehead. His posture was rigid, his hands steady—but his eyes wavered.
"You don't insult His Majesty's authority and decisions," Jasmin warned, his voice lined with something that almost sounded like… guilt.
The soldiers around them tensed, ready to strike.
But Nebula didn't flinch. His gaze remained locked with Yaron's. He could feel the raw hostility in the air, yet he stood his ground.
Then—
"Commander Jasmin."
Naritsa's voice was neither harsh nor pleading. It was gentle, yet firm. A voice of reason wrapped in unshakable resolve.
Jasmin flinched, his grip on the bow tightening.
"You are a man of honor," she continued. "You know this is wrong. You know your king's decision to side with the Gog Empire is a mistake. Every kingdom should be united against their tyranny… not revel in it.
Jasmin's jaw tightened. His hands trembled—just slightly—before he slowly lowered his weapon.
The crowd stirred in shock.
Yaron, however, was not impressed.
Instead, his lips curled into a smirk of recognition.
He chuckled darkly, his deep voice vibrating through the frozen air.
"Princess Naritsa."
His voice was smooth now, almost amused. "How did I not notice you until now?"
Naritsa's expression darkened. Laria immediately stepped closer to her, her muscles tensing. Nebula tensed, his fingers twitching toward his revolver.
"The Gog Empire extends their greetings to you… so-called Guardian Vessels," Yaron mused, his voice dripping with mockery.
And then, he lifted his hand. A single, deliberate gesture.
The soldiers moved instantly. Their weapons unsheathed. Their guardian beasts prowling. The street was no longer a street—it was a battleground waiting to ignite.
Yaron continued, unfazed by the rising tension.
"In exchange for delivering you into their hands," his voice dropped to something even darker, something twisted with satisfaction, "they've promised not only to spare Ghost Land… but to let us share in their eternal rule."
Silence.
The weight of his betrayal crashed down like a collapsing fortress.
Naritsa's eyes burned with defiance. Nebula retrieved his gun, now aiming it. Laria's blade gleamed in the dying light.
And then—
Yaron turned to Jasmin, his smirk vanishing.
His voice came out like a death sentence.
"Do what you must, Commander."
A final order.
Jasmin stiffened.