They waited near the edge of the training grounds, hidden between broken pillars and shadowed walls. Moss clung to cracked stone; late-afternoon light slanted through gaps, painting long golden bars across the dirt.
Vlad finished his practice in silence. His breathing came uneven, ragged. Sweat soaked his tunic, sticking it to his back and chest. Every muscle ached. He wiped his forehead with a trembling sleeve and turned to leave.
As he passed the outer path, Cassian stepped out and shoved him hard.
Vlad stumbled back, arms windmilling, boots skidding on loose gravel. He caught himself just before falling.
Cassian smirked, arms crossed.
"Running off already?"
Riven snorted from the side.
"Guess training got too scary for him."
Vlad's chest tightened. His pulse hammered in his ears. He looked at their faces—three of them, blocking the narrow path like a wall of sneers and folded arms.
His instincts screamed.
He turned and ran.
"Hey—!" Cassian shouted. "Don't run!"
Footsteps thundered behind him, heavy and fast.
"Stop!" Maeric yelled. "Where do you think you're going?!"
Vlad ran as fast as he could. His breath tore from his lungs in sharp gasps. Vision blurred at the edges as panic flooded him. Tears burned hot tracks down his cheeks, but he didn't slow.
Cassian clicked his tongue.
"Tch. Annoying."
Heat flared behind him.
Cassian flicked his fingers. A small fireball hissed into existence—orange and spitting—then hurtled forward.
The ground ahead erupted in flame. Scorched earth cracked open; low flames crawled hungrily across the dirt like living serpents. Vlad cried out and swerved hard to the side. Heat licked at his boots, singeing leather, slowing him just enough for their laughter to catch up.
Cassian laughed loudly.
"Run faster, little brother!"
Vlad's legs burned. His heart felt like it might burst through his ribs.
He didn't look back.
He bolted toward the trees behind the castle—the dense wall of Greywood Forest rising dark and unbroken before him.
Branches tore at his sleeves as he plunged inside. Roots snagged his ankles; leaves and shadows slapped his face, blinding him. He ran blindly, sobbing, desperate to escape their voices echoing behind.
Slowly, the shouting faded.
The forest swallowed him whole.
Cassian and the others stopped at the forest's edge, chests heaving.
Cassian straightened, brushing dirt from his sleeve with casual disdain.
"He sure runs fast."
Riven glanced uneasily into the dark trees.
"This is Greywood."
Cassian smirked.
"Let's go back. If he's lucky, someone will find him before the monsters do."
They turned away, heading back toward the castle.
Vlad finally stopped when his legs gave out.
He collapsed against the base of a towering oak, bark rough against his back. Shoulders shaking, he cried—quiet, broken sobs that echoed strangely in the stillness.
Blood trickled from scrapes on his arms and knees, warm and sticky. Dirt clung to every wound.
He closed his eyes, hands trembling, and focused.
A faint warmth gathered in his palms—the healing magic Aldric had taught him. Golden threads, thin as spider silk, wove over the worst cuts. The bleeding slowed to a sluggish seep. It wasn't enough to close them fully, but the sharpest pain dulled to a deep throb.
Vlad stood beneath the dark canopy, chest rising and falling too fast. Every direction looked the same—twisted roots snaking across mossy earth, thick trunks vanishing into shadow, branches interlocking overhead like a cage.
He wiped his face with a filthy sleeve and turned slowly. Panic crept back in, cold and heavy.
Which way…?
At the same time, the courtyard of Castle Draven was tense with quiet voices.
Seraphiel stood with Erik and Aldric beneath the fading evening sky. Torches had just been lit; their flames snapped in the cooling air.
Seraphiel looked to Erik.
"What did you want to discuss?"
Erik bowed his head slightly.
"The Black Squad discovered an abandoned tent near the eastern forest. No markings, but the traces suggest Valeren movement. If spies have crossed the border, they did so carefully."
"Is he trying to break the treaty we made together with Kaishen?" Seraphiel asked.
"I'm afraid so," Erik replied.
Aldric folded his arms, leather creaking.
"I suspect help from within. One of the elders may be feeding them information."
Seraphiel frowned.
"That is a serious accusation."
"I know," Aldric said calmly. "That's why I haven't spoken it aloud until now."
Footsteps approached—light, hurried.
Elarys entered the courtyard, her expression tight with worry. The hem of her gown brushed the flagstones.
"Forgive me for interrupting," she said, then looked directly at Aldric. "Brother… have you seen Vlad anywhere today?"
Aldric shook his head.
"I haven't."
"He may still be at the training grounds," Erik offered.
Elarys's brows drew together.
"He never stays that late."
Erik hesitated, then asked,
"Has Young Master Cassian returned?"
"Yes," Elarys replied. "He finished training earlier. Why do you ask?"
Erik waved it off quickly.
"Nothing. There was… a small disagreement during training."
Seraphiel sighed.
"Siblings quarrel all the time. Let's not jump to conclusions."
Aldric didn't respond at once. His gaze stayed fixed on Erik.
"Was Cassian alone with Vlad?" he asked quietly.
Erik swallowed.
"No. Riven Thalos and Maeric Elyndor were with him."
Aldric exhaled slowly.
"Summon them. Now."
Seraphiel turned sharply.
"Brother, what are you planning? He may have simply fallen asleep at the grounds."
"Vlad would never waste training time like that," Aldric said flatly.
Moments later, Erik returned with Riven and Maeric. Both boys bowed stiffly, faces pale in the torchlight.
"Greetings to the Patriarch," they said in unison.
Aldric stepped forward and lowered himself slightly so he was level with them.
"Have either of you seen Vlad today?" he asked, tone calm.
Both shook their heads.
"No, my lord," Maeric said quickly.
Riven nodded, but his knees trembled visibly.
Aldric straightened. He already knew.
"Very well," he said gently. "You may go."
Maeric turned at once and hurried away.
Riven didn't move.
His breathing grew shallow, chest rising and falling too fast.
Aldric noticed and crouched again.
"You're still here," he said softly. "Why?"
Riven's voice broke.
"Lord Aldric… I might know where Vlad is."
Maeric hissed from a distance, "Riven—!"
Riven swallowed hard.
"He ran into the Greywood Forest. We didn't chase him. He… he ran on his own."
The courtyard went still.
Erik's face drained of color.
"The Greywood?" he whispered. "That's where we found the abandoned tent."
Elarys staggered. Her strength gave out; Seraphiel caught her before she fell, arms steady around her waist.
Aldric turned sharply and shouted,
"Kaira!"
The sky roared in response.
Wings beat the air with hurricane force as the White Dragon descended, silver scales flashing in the torchlight. Dust swirled upward in violent spirals.
Aldric mounted her without hesitation, gripping the ridges along her neck.
Seraphiel looked to Erik.
"Assemble the Black Squad. Now."
"Yes, my lord."
Kaira surged toward the Greywood Forest, a streak of frost and fury against the darkening sky.
And far beneath that dark canopy, a small, frightened boy stood alone, unaware which way to go.
Vlad moved through the forest with unsteady steps, searching desperately for a way out. The trees seemed endless, their shadows pressing in from every side. Every snap of a branch made his breath hitch.
I just need to find the road… just one path…
Then—voices.
Low. Rough. Adult.
Hope flared in his chest.
Vlad hurried toward the sound, pushing through thorny brush until the trees thinned into a small clearing. Three men stood there, cloaks dark and travel-stained, weapons resting easily at their sides—short swords, a notched axe, a coiled whip.
The moment they saw him, the talking stopped.
Kael frowned.
"Who's this kid?"
Bran squinted at Vlad's torn clothes.
"Look at him. Dravenir colors. A noble brat."
Vlad froze. His heart dropped like a stone. He took a step back.
Kael glanced at the man in the center.
"What do we do, Captain?"
Vorren didn't hesitate.
"Kill him. If he gets out, our position's exposed."
Panic hit all at once.
Vlad turned to run—but his legs gave out. Exhaustion caught him in a single cruel moment. He stumbled and hit the ground hard, breath tearing from his lungs.
Footsteps closed in.
Metal scraped as Bran reached for his sword.
"Don't," Vorren snapped. "No blades. That'll leave marks."
He looked down at Vlad coldly.
"Beat him until he can't run. If something finds him out here, they'll say it was a monster."
Kael laughed.
"Smart."
Hands grabbed Vlad by the front of his tunic and yanked him up.
"I—please—" Vlad tried to speak.
A punch struck his face. Pain burst white behind his eyes. He cried out as he was thrown back into the dirt.
"Shut him up," Kael said.
Another kick landed in his ribs. Vlad curled in, shaking, tears spilling freely.
"Please… let me go…" he sobbed.
No one listened.
Bran grabbed his arm and twisted. Pain tore through him, sharp and unbearable. Vlad screamed.
"Cover his mouth!" Vorren barked.
Vlad's world shrank to pain and fear. Lying on the ground, voice breaking, he cried,
"Father… help me… it hurts…"
A distant roar rolled through the forest.
The sound of wings flapping—massive, thunderous.
Vorren stiffened and looked up.
"That's enough," he said. "He won't survive out here anyway. Monsters'll finish him. Let's move before someone notices."
Kael landed one last kick.
The three of them turned their backs on him, laughter echoing through the trees as they lingered nearby.
Vlad lay still.
Pain came in waves. His breathing grew shallow. The forest sounds faded, replaced by ringing silence.
Then—
"Wake up, my child."
The voice was calm. Too calm.
Vlad opened his eyes.
He lay on still water stretching endlessly in every direction, reflecting a pale, empty sky. The forest was gone. The pain was gone.
A figure crouched beside him, its shape unclear—like a memory given form, edges shimmering faintly.
"Are you going to let them leave just like that?" it asked.
Vlad swallowed.
"What else can I do? I can't even stand. Even if I could… I'm weak. If I die here, no one would be surprised."
The figure hummed.
"Is that so?"
It tilted its head.
"Then perhaps my friend can help you."
"Have you heard about Sylvie?"
Vlad's eyes widened.
"Sylvie… the First Patriarch's spirit companion."
The figure laughed softly.
"You are more knowledgeable than you appear."
A small white light bloomed in its hand. With a snap, it condensed—pure and gentle. The figure pressed it against Vlad's chest.
"Please," it said quietly, "take care of my friend."
The light sank into him, warm and bright.
"Now," the figure said, rising, "get up."
Vlad gasped.
The water vanished.
The forest rushed back—cold air, pain, sound.
Laughter echoed ahead.
Vlad pushed himself up with his right arm. His left hung uselessly, pain flaring as it moved.
But something was different.
The wind brushed against his skin, soft and alive. It gathered around his fingers when he focused—cool, restless, eager.
Ahead, Vorren and the others were still visible between the trees.
Vlad lifted his hand, gripping the air as if it were a spear.
"Wind spear," he whispered.
He thrust his hand forward.
The air split with a sharp crack.
Kael turned.
"Huh? Captain, did you say something—"
Vorren staggered. His eyes went wide as he looked down. Breath left him in a broken gasp. He collapsed where he stood, a clean hole torn through his chest.
Bran froze.
Through the hollow, he saw him—
Vlad.
Bloodied. Shaking. Barely standing.
And yet, through the dirt and blood, one thing stood out.
His ruby-red eye gleaming sharply in the shadows, fixed on them with an unyielding light.
High above the forest, Kaira stiffened mid-flight.
She felt it.
A faint mana, unsteady, yet undeniably familiar.
It was not the child's presence that reached her, but something deeper.
The echo of a spirit she had once flown beside.
It was the presence of her long-lost spirit friend.
Her roar shattered the sky as she dove.
"Damn it!" Bran shouted. "We should've killed him!"
They rushed Vlad, mana flaring around their weapons—blades glowing sickly green.
Vlad raised his arm again.
"Tempest of—"
He coughed. Blood spilled from his lips. His strength failed, and he dropped to one knee.
Bran swung for his neck.
The ground trembled.
A shadow fell upon Bran.
Kaira's claw came down in an instant.
Bran was crushed before he could scream—bone and armor splintering under impossible weight.
Aldric's voice followed immediately after.
"Incinerate."
Fire surged past Vlad, white-hot and roaring, swallowing the last Valeren scout as he tried to flee. His scream was cut short in a burst of ash and flame.
Aldric landed beside Vlad, boots hitting the earth hard.
"Vlad—!"
Healing magic poured from his hands, frantic and strained—golden light flooding over the boy's broken body. It wasn't enough; blood still seeped from too many places.
Aldric gathered him up and mounted Kaira.
"To the castle," he ordered.
As they rose, Aldric's thoughts raced.
That spell… that stance…
Tempest of Ruin.
Vlad shouldn't have been able to use it. If he had finished—
The entire Greywood Forest would have been erased.
And that posture…
Aldric clenched his jaw.
He knew it.
The stance used by the First Patriarch—the very one recorded in the book he had given Vlad.
He pulled Vlad closer, desperately healing him.
"Please," he whispered,
"hang on, Vlad…"