The night had burned bright red in Hardard's fortress — smoke still rose from the shattered gate, and the scent of blood mixed with scorched stone.What was once a place of pride and strength now stood in chaos. Guards lay unconscious or dead, and the once-grand hall bore a single mocking message burned into its wall:
"Magnus was here :)"
A cruel smile drawn beneath it.
Hardard the Fury stood before that wall, his fists clenched so tightly that blood dripped from his knuckles. The veins in his arms glowed faintly — the crimson light of his Fire Fist Aura pulsing with rage.
His eyes blazed like twin embers. "That bastard boy…" he growled, voice like thunder. "He dares mock me."
Behind him, Lyra Ganills leaned casually against a broken pillar. Her pale hair shimmered in the light of the fires, and her lips curved in a faint, amused smile. Her aura rippled faintly — a subtle distortion in the air, like a mirage.
"Seems he's inherited his father's audacity," she said lightly. "Leaving a note like that? Bold. Stupid, maybe, but bold."
Hardard turned, his face twisting. "Don't you dare compare him to Edward Caldryn."
Lyra shrugged, unbothered by his fury. "Touchy as ever. Still, you can't deny the boy has nerve. He walked through your fortress, put your men to sleep, and vanished before dawn. That takes planning."
Hardard's aura flared hotter, flames licking across his arms. The ground beneath him cracked from the heat."He humiliated me in my own house. I'll tear him apart with my bare hands!"
Lyra watched him quietly for a moment before speaking again, her tone softer. "Revenge won't help if you burn half your men in the process. We need precision, not blind rage."
He glared at her, but her calm stare didn't waver.
Finally, he exhaled, the flames dimming. "Then what do you suggest?"
She smiled faintly. "We make him think he's safe. He'll hide somewhere nearby — pride won't let him run far. And when he comes out of the shadows…"Her Illusion Aura flickered around her, forming ghostly images of shadowy figures circling a campfire."…we strike from every side."
Hardard smirked darkly. "You always did enjoy your tricks."
Lyra tilted her head. "And you always did enjoy breaking things."
They stood in silence for a moment, the tension between them sharp but strangely familiar — like two blades drawn but not yet clashing.
A messenger ran in, bowing deeply. "M-Master Hardard! A letter from Prince Ethan Valisar!"
Hardard snatched the letter, tearing it open. His eyes scanned the neat handwriting. Ethan's words were simple:
'Handle the Caldryn boy as you see fit. But make sure he learns what it means to defy Valisar.'
Hardard's grin widened. "Permission granted."
Lyra's smile thinned. "You sound like you've been waiting years for this."
"I have," Hardard said coldly. His fists clenched again, fire gathering around his knuckles. "For too long that family lived while I suffered in silence. The father stole what was mine — now I'll burn his son in front of the whole kingdom."
Lyra's expression softened slightly — not in pity, but in quiet understanding. "Anna Caldryn was never yours, Hardard. No amount of fire will change that."
His eyes flared dangerously. "Enough."
She didn't push further. "Fine. Then let's make sure your fire doesn't burn out before the boy gets here."
Meanwhile In the Silver Mare Tavern
The tavern was quieter now, the morning crowd thinning as travelers went about their day. Magnus Caldryn sat in a corner booth, sharpening his twin Shadow Sabers. The blades caught no light — instead, they seemed to drink it in, shimmering with a faint black aura.
Across from him, Rhea leaned over a map spread on the table, tracing routes through the southern hills. "Hardard's fortress is in flames by now," she said. "You sure that note was worth it?"
Magnus smirked faintly. "A message needed to be sent. Valisar thinks I'm a fugitive — I want them to know I'm not hiding anymore."
Rhea raised an eyebrow. "So you want the kingdom's most dangerous warlord chasing you?"
Magnus looked up, his crimson eyes calm. "Yes."
She sighed, sitting back. "You really are insane."
"Maybe," he said quietly, "but insanity gets results."
For a moment, neither spoke. The faint hum of the tavern filled the air — laughter, mugs clinking, footsteps on wood.
Then Rhea said, "Hardard won't come alone. Lyra will be with him."
Magnus's expression darkened. "The Illusionist?"
"Mm." Rhea's tone was serious now. "She's unpredictable. You can't trust what you see when she's around."
Magnus nodded slowly. "Then I won't rely on my eyes."
He stood, pulling his cloak around him. "It's time we moved. Once Valisar starts hunting, nowhere in this city will stay quiet."
Rhea rose too, checking her daggers. The faint green glow of her Poison Fang Aura shimmered along the blade's edge. "Where to?"
Magnus glanced toward the window, where the sunlight faded behind gathering clouds. "North," he said. "To the ruins near Black Hollow. Hardard will come — and when he does…"A faint smile crossed his lips. "I'll be waiting."
Rhea looked at him, uncertain whether to laugh or worry. "You plan to ambush the Fury in his own element?"
Magnus's shadow aura flared faintly, curling around his boots like smoke. "No," he said softly. "I plan to end him there."
Back at the Valisar Fortress
Prince Ethan Valisar stood at his balcony, a wine glass in hand, watching smoke rise in the distant hills. The fire at Hardard's fortress was still visible even from here.
A faint smile touched his lips. "So it begins," he murmured.
Behind him, a servant knelt silently, awaiting orders.
"Send a message to the eastern outpost," Ethan said without turning. "Tell them to hold position. The boy will move north soon — and when he does, I want to know every step he takes."
"Yes, Your Highness."
As the servant hurried away, Ethan took a slow sip of his wine. "Magnus Caldryn," he whispered, "show me what you're really made of."
The sunlight caught his reflection in the glass — calm, cold, and calculating.
Far away, in the shadows of the northern hills, the fate of Valisar was already beginning to shift.
The fire of vengeance had met the darkness of resolve — and neither side planned to yield.
Continued in chapter 18…..