Kael and Sylas stood at the edge of the town, the early morning haze casting long shadows behind them.
Kael scratched his head, brow furrowed.
"Uh… Sylas, what now?"
Sylas didn't answer right away. His eyes were fixed on the road where a carriage rolled steadily by, dust trailing like a whisper. He raised a hand. The
carriage slowed, creaking to a halt.
At the reins sat a humble-looking old man, cloaked in faded cloth, face weathered like old parchment.
"What might you gentlemen need?" he asked, voice kind.
Sylas narrowed his eyes, whispering something under his breath too quiet to hear. Then, louder:
"We're heading to Sangralure. Any chance you're headed that way?"
The old man's smile widened.
"By sheer coincidence… that's my destination too."
Kael perked up, stepping forward.
"We'll ride with you. And in exchange—free protection. Deal?"
The man chuckled.
"Lively bunch, aren't you? Hop in. But fair warning—it'll be a bumpy ride."
They climbed aboard. The carriage was mostly empty, save for a few wooden crates tucked beneath the seats. Kael slung his bandaged sword beside him, faint pulses of violet light leaking through the wraps like the beat of a dying star.
"Kael," Sylas said sharply. "Don't let your guard down."
Kael raised a brow.
"Why?"
Sylas smirked, his gaze falling on the old man.
"something is wrong."
The road stretched quiet and calm for a while, wheels clattering like distant drums. Then the man spoke again.
"So, why Sangralure?"
Sylas began, "We're looking for—"
"We're searching for Luna," Kael interrupted, leaning back.
Sylas turned sharply.
"How do you know about Luna?"
Kael shrugged, smug.
"Headnun told me. Unlike you, she trusts me."
Sylas's fists clenched, jaw tight.
"Ooh…" Kael grinned. "Struck a nerve, did I?"
The old man raised both hands, attempting to diffuse the tension.
"Luna, you say? Do you have… connections with her?"
Sylas regained composure, sat back down.
"No. We don't know her."
"That's a problem," the man said, his tone dimming. "the princess isn't just anyone. She's the captain of the Crimson Squad."
Sylas narrowed his eyes.
"What do you mean captain?"
The old man glanced up at the sky.
"She's a legend. Her squad's never lost a single battle. Not one."
"How many are in her squad?"
"No one knows. Only Luna's identity is public. The rest… shadows."
He chuckled. "Ah, forgive me. Name's Ashrosa. And you two?"
"Sylas," came the answer. "And he's Kael."
"Strong names," Ashrosa said. "Fitting."
The journey carried on. The sun dipped lower. Silence lingered, stretching.
Then—howls.
Distant. Ferocious.
The carriage halted.
Kael leapt down instinctively, sword in hand. Sylas cautious. Why did Ashrosa stop? Something felt… off.
From the forest, four beasts emerged—wolf-like, yet twisted. Purple saliva dripped from gaping jaws. Their eyes burned with madness.
Kael charged, his blade slamming into the earth, violet veins flaring like lightning.
A beast lunged at his side.
Swoosh.
Sylas was there—daggers flashing, cleaving the creature open.
"One down," he muttered.
Kael yanked his sword free.
"One down," he echoed, grinning. "Round two, let's go!"
But Sylas's gaze flicked sideways—Ashrosa, standing unnervingly still, watching them. Not in fear… in assessment.
Sylas barely had time to think. His daggers trembled. From the fallen beast, blood spiraled unnaturally—pulled toward the spines of his blades. It vanished into them like ink into cloth.
"Sylas watch out!" Kael shouted.
A wolf was inches from his face.
Sylas thrust his daggers into its jaws. Steel bit fang. Sparks flew.
flames erupted, engulfing the beast.
Sylas stared at his blades, now silent. The flames had vanished as fast as they came.
Ashrosa clapped.
"Good coordination. Impressive."
Kael scowled.
"You're a little too calm for someone nearly eaten alive."
Ashrosa shrugged.
"I've been in worse."
They climbed back aboard. The carriage resumed its path, but Sylas couldn't shake it—the itch in his gut. The nagging whisper: Something is wrong.
Dawn broke. Golden light stretched over the horizon.
Ashrosa's voice dropped, colder now.
"Tell me… your weapons. Were they forged from Qasrith? Or perhaps… Asmaril?"
Sylas stood, unsheathing his blades.
Kael blinked.
"What are you doing?"
Without a word, Sylas knelt and stabbed into the box under the seat.
Black powder spilled out.
He looked at Ashrosa.
Ashrosa was grinning now. At his fingertip, a tiny spark flickered—alive and threatening.
Sylas's voice was steel.
"Kael. Jump."
In one swift motion, he slashed the carriage, hurling Kael free.
Ashrosa sighed.
"Pity. I really liked you boys. But your weapons… they're worth far more than your lives."
Sylas dove a heartbeat before the explosion.
The world cracked open. Fire roared. Splinters flew.
Kael, wide-eyed, scrambled to his feet.
"What the hell just happened?!"
Sylas stood slowly, blades drawn.
"We were tricked. Now focus."